


The Little Prince of Knockturn Alley

by Maizeysugah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Brothels, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Domestic Violence, Forced Prostitution, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Physical Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Slash, Teen Romance, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:36:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 45,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7169444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maizeysugah/pseuds/Maizeysugah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After nearly dying from being poisoned in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry Potter is sold to a brothel to serve as a whore to the most elite on the dark side. Six years later, Draco Malfoy is dragged to the house of ill repute on his birthday, only to find out that the boy of his dreams is not only still alive, but inside that building and could be bought for the right price.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ganymede

**Author's Note:**

> *There is some violence in this fic, nothing horrible but I want to give fair warning, more than just the tags because some people miss them and I don't want anyone to trigger bad memories from reading on*
> 
> This story is something I wrote maybe eight years ago. It is complete, I just haven't gotten around to posting it. If you've read the ficlet I wrote called "The Auror, the Lunitic and the Psycho" this story is the origin of it. I did change a few things in the ficlet so it's not perfectly aligned, but whatever. 
> 
> Also, this is not a love triangle, as I sometimes write between these three. Tom is a bad man and this is first and foremost a love story between Draco and Harry. Sorry if that's not your bag :(

**5 June, 1998**  

As eve approached, the sound of splashing water filled the opulent, candlelit chamber. The room was hidden from sunlight, and only the wealthiest and most influential of wizards could hope to enter. The flooring of warmed mosaic tiles of iridescent glass reflected the flicker of flame, casting shadow of a feminine form across the deep, burgundy flocked wallpaper. 

“Oh, and did you hear about Professor McGonagall?” 

Nestled behind curtains of filmy tulle, delicately embroidered with tiny gems, a nearly eighteen year old boy sat in quiet contemplation while resting in a claw-footed bathtub. The water within was tinted in a light shade of pink, with crushed rose petals floating along the surface. A smallish girl, with skin the shade of warm cocoa and bouncy ringlets of doll-brown hair, knelt to the side, tending to his needs. 

“No, how could I?” he voiced, reclining against the slanted back of the tub. It was difficult to put a face to the name. He had not laid eyes on Minerva McGonagall since his second year at Hogwarts. He remembered her to be strict and fair, soft behind the tight bun and squared glasses perched on her nose, but her face…her face was a blur. Shifting his weight, he looked back at the girl. “Is she dead?” 

“Yes, it was a public execution.” 

 _…death is but the next great adventure._  

“How did you find out?” he asked. “Did someone here tell you?” 

She ran a sponge over the boy’s shoulder, squeezing water and suds along his collarbone, wetting his golden skin. She was always careful to avoid the puncture mark on his arm, the result from the bite of a basilisk that nearly killed him over six years back. “No, no one here tells me anything anymore. Ron Weasley came with a delivery again last night. He told me about how they said she was too old to teach, but that he believes it had more to do with what subject she was teaching certain students after lights out. There were rumours.” 

“So it couldn’t be a lie, right?” 

“Course not, Ron wouldn’t lie. Never speak a word of it. Promise me.” 

“I promise.” 

A door appeared in the centre of the eastern wall, sending a pulse of electricity through the room. Hermione Granger stood and dropped the loofah sponge into the tub. She ran her sodden fingers over the folds of her layered skirt as the door swung open and a tall, dark haired woman entered the room. The woman leaned against the frame, fanning her fingernails in the air. Her beautiful face scrunched in a sneer. “There you are, child. Go make yourself pretty, there are guests in the parlour.” 

Hermione scurried off without a word, brushing past the woman as she left. 

Bellatrix Lestrange lit a cigarette and made her way through the filmy enclosure, all the while shaking her head at the pretty boy she was to keep in pristine condition for her master’s younger self. “You’re going to wrinkle if you stay in there much longer. I doubt anyone would find that attractive.” 

She held out a hand to the boy, helping his balance as he stepped from the tub. Smirking, her eyes took in his perfect form. He was nearly as tall as she was now, long and lean. Every bone in his body had been shattered and sculpted to enhance and retain his stunning features. She cupped his face, turning it to and fro to check for any imperfections. He had grown into this body; he was youthful, fresh-faced, but no longer child-like. He looked upon her with owlish ingenuousness, and she smiled, pleased. “You’re perfect, Harry.” 

“Thank you, Mistress Bella.” 

“Fully grown at last. This is where he should stop your ageing, with you looking just like this.” 

Harry Potter pulled a dressing gown over his head and tied the sash around his waist while Bellatrix pulled his magically flattened hair back and draped it over his shoulder. It was waist-long, black as coal and shined like glass, just like his mistress’ beautiful locks. “Will I have company tonight?” he asked, leaning over the tub to retrieve his glasses. 

Bellatrix poured copious amounts of scented rose oil in her palm. “Doubtful, it’s late in the evening,” she said, raising Harry’s dressing gown over his hip to perfume his skin. Although the parlour had just filled with a group of young gentlemen, none of them had the clout to get into the boy’s chambers. 

“And I’m not expecting your master until next Friday.” She reached out, taking the boy by the chin and looked at him through the mirror adorning the wall in front of them. “Forget what she told you about that old teacher.” 

Harry’s mouth opened to speak. 

Bellatrix she cupped his chin to close it. “I’m not an idiot, Harry. If you bring this up to Tom and I find out…you can be sure that that tiny little Mudblood will be punished for wagging her tongue about what’s going on out there. The master was very specific about keeping your life nice and simple. Nice…and simple. You need not worry yourself about the bad people on the outside. We don’t want him taking you away from me, do we? Promise me.” 

“I promise, Mistress Bella, I won’t mention it.” 

And he wouldn’t. The matron of the parlour of ill repute could always count on the boy to keep his word. Harry knew others would suffer in order to keep him compliant. He did not wish anyone to suffer on his behalf, never again. 

Bellatrix cackled uncharacteristically and patted the boy’s backside. “That’s my boy. Now assume the position. Even though he says he won’t be expected until Friday, you and I both know he could drop by at any time, and we must not disappoint him.” 

Harry set his glasses back down, spread his legs, and leaned over the edge of the basin while his mistress coated his creamy flesh with the oil, something she was made to do each and every night. Her firm hands traced the inner portion of his thighs, danced along the cleft of his bum, and slipped around his hips. 

His hair came forward like a shroud to cover his face, hiding his disappointment. There would be no more word of the fate of Professor McGonagall that eve, as Bellatrix forbade any talk of the outside world from reaching his ears. Only Hermione dared to disobey that direct order, and only she was intelligent enough to get away with it. 

* * *

The drone in the waiting parlour erupted with anxious chatter and dramatic gasps. Filled with students from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the soon-to-be graduating boys from House Slytherin waited with baited breath as a door appeared and opened on the inner wall. The room was lit by bluebell flame, its blossom enhancing the sweet emergence of each young woman as they stepped into the room in a line for display. 

Draco Malfoy fell back against an antique settee in a fit of nervous tittering. Today was his eighteenth birthday. His schoolmates had dragged him around from pub to pub throughout the evening. Now, tipsy on fire whiskey, he found himself surrounded by a myriad of beautiful girls, each of them vying for his attention. It was something he would not have chosen in sobriety. He found himself thinking of their blood status as he looked them over, and had to remind himself that he was not there to breed. 

“Oh, Merlin, I want that one!” 

Looking like living versions of mannequins, the eight impure witches and one wizard stood soundless before them. Draco’s wavering glances over them centred repeatedly on the one girl in the room who was not flashing him her cleavage or batting her eyelashes; Hermione Granger. He knew her, he remembered her face. She had last been at school with him in their second year. As pretty as she looked, standing bashful in her empire-waist dress and baby-doll hair, it was not her that kept popping up in his mind. She had been friends with… 

“Do you have any idea how much pull you need for that? Get back to the parlour, boy, or I’ll toss you and your friends out on your ear!” 

Vincent Crabbe lumbered back to the parlour, sulking. He plopped down on the settee next to Draco, nearly collapsing the ancient frame. “Unfortunately, my father does not have the status to get us into the back rooms,” he mocked, glaring at Alecto Carrow out of the corner of his eye. “Whatever, bint’s a pain in the arse anyway. Just pick one of these ugly tarts and have one off with them, Draco.” 

“What’s in the back rooms?” Draco asked, curious. A few of the girls had pulled their skirts up to show off their knickers. Again, Draco felt the rising flush of awkwardness warm his cheeks. Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and Gregory Goyle were on their knees with their tongues hanging out like dogs at the girls’ feet. Inebriation swirled Draco’s brain with fuzziness. His attention moved between Granger and the uncomfortable-looking Mudblood boy. His jaw hardened, his eyes narrowed as they came to a stop on Granger. On the tip of his tongue were the words of choosing. If he could not have what he truly wanted, he would have her. His mind went to a dark place. He would show her what it was like to be bested by a pure-blooded wizard, and probably never be allowed back. 

“Oh, that’s where they house the courtesans. The ones only the most privileged are allowed to visit, it seems. I hear they keep a Metamorphmagus and a part-Veela back there,” Crabbe muttered under his breath, having finally taken his attention away from the whores to answer his friend’s question. 

Draco’s eyebrows shot up with interest. A Veela would make the evening a bit more interesting, and he might even enjoy it. “You don’t say.” 

Blaise looked over his shoulder, wagging his eyebrows. “Don’t forget about Ginny Weasley, she’s a pure-blood!” 

“Liar,” Crabbe hissed, waving him off. “There are no pure-bloods here.” 

“Nah, it’s true,” Goyle injected. “I heard Diggory telling Davies about coming here on his eighteenth birthday a while back at the World Cup, and they had a choice of a pure-blood girl, namely Weasley, the morphing one, the part Veela or if you like em male, um…what was that bloke’s name again? The one with the scar, the boy who almost died in the Chamber of Secrets before the Dark Lord’s boy saved his life.” 

With a look of surprise, Draco sat forward on the edge of his seat. “Do you mean Harry Potter?” 

Glancing upward, he watched Hermione’s expression defy her. Her mouth dropped open in shock, and she began to pant. The sleeping butterflies awoke in his stomach and his heart began to thud against his ribcage. His obsession was here, in this very building. “He’s here too? You can’t be serious, Goyle.” 

“That’s what he told him.” Goyle shrugged, and returned his attention back on the girls. “Harry Potter: the boy whose name you’ve moaned in your sleep more than once!” 

Draco snapped his lips shut. How could he been so careless to let something that private slip out for others to hear…He swallowed back his embarrassment and peeked once more at Granger. 

Hermione was now looking at him as if he were on fire. 

Draco turned a brilliant shade of red. He elbowed Greg. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve never moaned anyone’s name in my sleep. Maybe I was thinking about beating him up.” 

Beat him up, pummel his face into a pulp, taunt him into tears, suck his tongue into his mouth - meh, it was all the same thing. Draco Malfoy loved to hate Harry Potter. It was a passion of his. And it was taken away from him far too early in life, the boy plucked from his grasp by a one-sided war. 

Harry, to Draco, was a legend, a myth, the cocky boy was now an image he used to masturbate to, a mystery that should have never invaded his reality…or left it unfinished. Harry was a foul-mouthed nemesis who always bested him at anything he tried. He had been dragged out of Hogwarts by Death Eaters on the orders of that living memory of the Dark Lord, along with the impure ones and blood-traitors, four years back, killed or sold off to who knows, and should have never been seen from again. 

“Yeah, he’s the Dark Lord’s boy’s personal fuck-toy, but he’s also forced to work here, so I’ve heard,” Teddy added bluntly, as if everyone in the world knew of Harry Potter’s business. “Said he was a pretty thing, kept all dolled up and secluded to preserve his innocence or something stupid. It was a weird conversation to eaves drop in on.” 

“Why didn’t either of you tell me about this before?” Draco asked them under his breath, in hopes that the judging busybody burning holes into him with her eyes could not hear him. 

The other boys shrugged. “I didn’t even know what the word ‘whore’ meant at the time!” Teddy replied. 

“Well,” Draco snapped, standing up. It could not be possible, but if it were true he had to find out. He turned his nose up at the display line of second-rate pickings, eager to try and weasel his way into the back rooms. “I see nothing here worth wasting my time on. I want…er…the Veela.” 

“Oh yeah, good luck with that, Draco, they’ll never let you in back there,” Crabbe teased, watching him saunter away. He dropped down on his knees beside Goyle, rolling his eyes. “If I couldn’t get in, what makes him think that he will?”

* * *

Alecto Carrow tapped the tip of her quill on the table with irritation. She inclined her head, gaping at the tall, white-haired boy standing over her. “Are you quite finished with your little tantrum? I told you already, we do not let first time patrons into the backrooms no matter who their father is. If you insist on carrying out your threats I will have to ask you never to return.” 

“Is he back there or not?” Draco stamped his foot on the wooden boards of the floor. He rasped for breath, unable to hold in the frustration of not getting his way. 

With a frown, and against her better judgement, Alecto gave him a simple nod. 

Draco’s stomach flip-flopped. The rival from school, his obsession, he was here. “My aunt could talk to my father. He could get me permission,” he blurted with excitement. “Tell my Aunt Bellatrix I’m here and I want in.” 

Looking back into the parlour, he had hoped no one had heard his outburst. Spending your evening with a bloke, even if it was Harry Potter, might not go over very well with them. They could never understand the true desire of conquering and besting someone who had always come out on top. This was his opportunity to do something for himself. It was his day after all. 

Pulling herself from her chair, Alecto threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. “Bella dear, your nephew wishes to visit with Harry Potter. I’ve told him several times about our rules, but he insists that I speak with you.” Her words are flat, as if she had spoken them over a thousand times. “He asks that you contact his father for permission and the money.” 

After a nail-biting moment of silence, Draco began to fret. How could she deny him this prospect? 

Alecto yanked her head back, sighing. She stood up and turned to the boy, gesturing for him to follow. “It seems your auntie has given you her consent.” She stopped, putting her hand out. “There are rules you must follow, though. Firstly, surrender your wand.” 

Adrenaline exploded through Draco’s veins. Without thinking, he dug into his pocket and gave her the wand. It was happening. He was going to be face to face with Harry Potter within a minute, and he could do anything he wanted to him. “What rules?” he burbled, shaking in place. He was not sure he could stay standing. His knees knocked and his hands trembled. He leaned up against the wall for support, hoping the lump-of-a-woman staring him down did not notice. 

“There are several, actually, so pay close attention. This consent is to be kept in the strictest of confidences. Harry Potter can not be visited by just anybody, you know. You have to be favoured by our Lord or carry some serious clout. Little Harry is sacred to the master’s boy, and is only allowed to work here because Mistress Bellatrix takes such good care of him. He cannot be left alone or in some cell-ward; his master is a very busy man, Draco, always doing tasks for our Lord. Mr Potter must be catered to night and day.” 

“Sure,” Draco said, half-listening. He grew anxious, desperate to finally get his hands on Potter after all this time. He sneered at Carrow, not understanding why they were still standing there. “Lead on, woman.” 

“Woman?” Alecto gripped the scruff of Draco’s collar and yanked him down to her level. “You’re lucky to even be speaking to me about this, boy. Now pay attention while I explain the rules to you or you can just leave right now.” She pulled her hands away and gestured to the door. “Your choice, lad.” 

Draco paled. “No, I’ll listen. Please, go on.” 

After a moment of silent contemplation with a well-placed sneer, Alecto continued. 

“You will not tell anyone that you have been given permission to visit with him, or what goes on during this visit. He is not to be permanently marked in any way. Do not try and alter his brand, and do not attempt to remove his bracelet. You will not discuss any current events or history with him, tell him nothing of the outside world. 

“If you wish to physically harm him; as in to beat him up, to rape him, to try to cause any sort of mental anguish or perform any other abnormal kink that might distress his demeanour or alter his beauty, the okay must be given by Bellatrix. Steps will be taken to ensure his overall safety, as none of these things can be permanent. And, if you do choose any of the above, you will be watched by our Lord’s royal guard during your visit…meaning they’ll be sitting in the room with you - watching you up close and personal with drawn wands. 

“You will have three hours to play with him in any other manner, Mr Malfoy, but may I add that he is the sole and personal catamite of our Lord’s returned memory of his younger self…A man who is pure evil, and much less forgiving than our blessed Lord. If his possession were to be harmed in the wrong way, the consequences would be immeasurable.” 

Still appearing a little too aloof for her liking, she said, “It doesn’t matter who your father is in this instance, boy, he won’t be able to save you. Don’t push it.” She closed her mouth and hardened her eyes, waiting on his okay, and added, “I speak of this last part in all seriousness as I have seen the aftermath of the last person that messed with the boy too roughly for our master’s liking.” She made popping noise with her mouth while she splayed her fingers open like a bomb exploded. “Potter is like a trophy of his, a physical prize for winning the war.” 

Draco was not sure what a catamite was, but it sounded important. He had no death wish either and had heard many times what an unforgiving psychopathic prick Tom Riddle was through the grapevine. Giving the woman his word and tossing his schoolmates a smug grin and a rude gesture, he followed her down the narrow, torch-lit passage in route to the back rooms. 

* * *

Silver poppy lamps burned in each corner of the ornate bedroom chamber. They had appeared out of thin air only moments before, to Harry’s surprise, signifying the impending arrival of a guest. Apparently, Bellatrix had been wrong, and the master had returned earlier than expected. 

His eyes were painted with charcoal and his lips stained with cherries. He hid his glasses and pulled his legs into his chest, crossing them at the ankle as he rested against a mound of velveteen pillows adorning his bed. The sheets he was situated over were of the finest silk charmeuse, deep purple in shade, and highly annoying to sleep on. He drew the cord to the curtains, releasing them to veil the bed. 

The powerful signature of magic pulsed through the air. The sound of light footfalls tapped against the glass tiles. The room, which was normally closed off and sealed like a tomb, opened up like a blooming rose, and Harry looked to his side, spotting the statuesque form of a young man staring openly at him between two life-sized bisque statues of cherubs hovering on each side of the doorway. 

The celluloid vanity brush the catamite was taming his hair with slipped out of his hand and dropped onto the bed. This man was not Tom. “What the hell?”.

The impish features of the white-haired boy brightened the instant his vision adjusted to the lamplight and found the object for which he was seeking. Despite being removed from their history books, the supposed mythical creature appeared before his eyes; so innocent, yet glowing with an aura of precociousness. “My God…Harry Potter, I can’t believe it’s really you.” 

“Malfoy?” Harry’s mouth dropped open, and he heaved in a great breath. His recognition and disgust welled up inside him like an active volcano. Instinctive hands flew up, clutching his dressing gown together over his unclothed form. “You’re not supposed to be here--get out!” 

Leaning up against the doorway, with his arms crossed to conceal the jitters he was experiencing, Draco smirked at the other boy as he looked him over. “Make me, orphan,” he replied vehemently. A surge of jealous rage and eerie passion soared through his veins. Even as a filthy slave and wanton tart, Potter was still an unbelievable git. “Haven’t seen your ugly mug around in ages. How long has it been?” 

“Not long enough,” Harry muttered under his breath as he backed up into the depths of the monstrous-sized bed, disappearing into the diaphanous gauze draped all around the canopy. “This can’t really be happening.” The soft jingle of charms twinkled through the thick perfumed air. 

Draco ran his fingers along a gilt bronze portrait frame, noting the quality and workmanship of the antique piece. Everything in the room was dressed in various shades of purple, with spun gold painted on every edge. It was immaculate and ornately designed, but stopped just short of being gaudy - minus the moving portrait of the Dark Lord sitting on a throne whilst hugging a gargantuan snake coiled around him, like his mother held her flat-faced dog. Both were hideously ugly. It stood alone inside as something that turned the young man’s stomach. 

Draco’s eyes moved from it back to the silhouette of the slender boy hidden behind the tulle curtain, and three little words formed solidly in his mind. _Humiliate, conquer, destroy._ “So, do you live inside here? It’s really nice.” 

Harry groaned. Malfoy was attempting to make idle chitchat with him. He had no use for this, he was not good with talking. He dug his fingernails into the filigree carvings on the bedstead out of frustration. “Yeah, it was nice till you arrived.” 

“Hey,” Draco shot back, balling his hands into fists with an ephemeral surge of vexation. “I’m a guest here. You’d better start treating me with some respect.” 

Harry smirked at him. “I’m not going to cater your want to carry on a conversation. I don’t have to respect you; I only have to pretend I do.” 

Draco’s nostrils flared. “Yeah, that’s the trick, ain’t it? You may live like a prince in these surroundings, but you’re a whore, Potter, try not to forget. Your job is to do whatever the hell I want.” 

He took a step closer, feeling the heat in the room steadily rising around him. Every little fantasy he had ever dreamed about involving this boy filled his head with nonsense. He had the upper hand, for once, for maybe the first time, and he intended on using that to his full advantage. 

Watching Harry Potter squirm would be worth two-hundred Galleons, easy. Malfoy threw up a trademark sneer while he conjured up a nasty little image of what Harry represented to him for something to think about. Harry was a  one-upper, a boy who always bested him at any competition they were up against. Not this time. 

“I can understand you being intimidated by my presence…” Draco began to feed his ego with the worried look on Harry’s painted visage. “But if you want to play hard-to-get, I’m not in the mood. I do recall seeing Hermione Granger out there on display in the lesser-whore lineup. She’s not so bad to look at, maybe I should spend my evening with her instead. I have a particular fetish for small, dark and pretty Mudbloods.” He punched his palm aggressively. “They’re usually so helpless, unable to protect themselves when they’re alone with me, and I’m in a foul mood and really need to take out this frustration on someone.” 

After a punctuated gasp as the blood drained out of his face, Harry snapped his lips shut through the next insult he had planned. He would not allow Hermione to suffer if he could help it. He could swallow his pride and do this. So he tipped his head, loosening his tense muscles and threw up a convincing seductive smile while he patted the bedding beside him. “No, Malfoy, that’s not necessary. I’ll show you a good time, love. Stay here.” 

“That’s better.” Draco moved toward the bed, letting his arms fall to his sides. The jitters vanished, and were quickly replaced with triumph. He scanned the room as he closed in on the bed, crinkling his nose. The veiling parted, and he slipped his head inside. “It looks like you live in a dollhouse, and you kind of look like one, too.” 

Although the image of Potter’s face had become muddled over time, he hardly remembered him looking pretty. “I don’t have any say in how this room looks, or how I look.” 

Draco’s heart fluttered on the inside, watching the boy curl up into himself more. The closer he got to him, more he would tighten. It disturbed the Slytherin to see another human being react to his presence so negatively, but he remained steadfastly calm. 

Harry, it appeared, was frightened of him. 

Now, so close, he could taunt this lucky ex-Gryffindor as much as he wanted to over the next three hours. “Have you always been this girly?” 

“Shut up, you git, I’m wearing loads of makeup. I was expecting my mast—I was expecting someone else, someone important,” Harry retorted, inching his body farther away as Draco moved through the filmy curtains to rest down on the edge of the bed. 

The charms hanging from Harry’s anklet jingled as he backed away as far as he could without falling off the other side, drawing Draco’s attention downward. 

Always a Malfoy, Draco felt this powerful impulse that demanded he grab that limb and suck on every one of Harry’s shapely toes. He needed to kiss and lick each sweet digit, run his tongue up along the fleshy inner part of the leg, tear his dressing gown to shreds and screw him senseless. It was his right, after all. He had gotten to this point with a surname and a bucket-load of money; he felt that he had really worked hard for this, and it was his birthday. 

It was a vivid nightmare Harry could not wake up from. He rubbed his scar, taking his attention away from Draco’s fumbling fingers on the button of his trousers. Over the last six or so years of slavery, nothing he could remember had felt as humiliating. Normally, he could cope with vile Death Eaters running their greasy hands all over his skin, lying on top of him with their fat hairy bodies, making him do unspeakable acts on their sweaty genitalia. But this…This was Malfoy, the stupid prick from Hogwarts who tried to make his life a living hell while he attended. 

Harry was not allowed to fight him off, nor deny him access to his body, it was simply not allowed. The rules he was to follow clearly stated that if Malfoy paid his fare and was granted exclusive access to his chambers, Malfoy could have his way with him. But Harry would not give in; he would just lie there like the dead while Draco did his worst, and pray the offending images would disappear from his mind forever. Maybe Tom would wipe them away for him if he asked him nicely enough. He could do this, he would not fight back, for he was strong, rock hard like a diamond. “Don’t touch me,” he cried and flinched, feeling the a sag in the mattress as Draco inched in closer. 

Draco’s eyes lit up with mischief as he crawled along the bed. He tittered evilly. “You look tense, Potter. Where’s that Gryffindor bravery now, hmm?” _Oh, I will touch you._  

Harry backed himself into the bedstead and curled up in a foetal ball. “I’m not afraid of you. You’re pathetic and predictable. You’re only here so you can have a good laugh with your disgusting friends afterword. But the joke’s on you - I’ll never have to see any of them, so it doesn’t matter.” His head shot up out of the ball. “Just get this over with and get out.” 

Draco’s silky hair fell into his eyes. He was as pale as Harry remembered, but he had grown into manhood. Draco was tall, lean, and the definition of his musculature threatened to split the seams in his clothing through the strain as he scanned the room. His clothing was crisp, looking terribly expensive. He was still and always would be a filthy rich piece of trash who always got what he wanted. 

Just the way Draco turned so viciously on him told Harry that he would most likely be overpowered, and certainly raped if he did try to fight back. He bit his tongue as Malfoy’s hand shot out, catching him by the ankle. “Oh Merlin, here we go…” 

“Predictable?” _Touching him now, so close, skin so soft, smells so good…_ “I just wanted to see you for myself. My friends don’t know I’m in here.” 

Gaping at the white-knuckled fingers tugging his leg prone, Harry hardly believed him. “Course they don’t, you’re a bloody saint.” He tried to pull away. And as Malfoy leaned closer, Harry baulked. “Let me go!” 

“As you probably know,” Draco scoffed, and yanked Harry closer so that he dropped flat on the mattress. He grabbed the boy’s wrist to keep him in place in the centre of the bed, ignoring his mumbling pleas. “I did pay a lot of money to get in here. I’m still a little drunk and I am seriously horny.” He tipped his head as he tossed up an evil grin. “And you are a dirty, filthy, fucking little whore whose sole task it is to please me, so you can see where this is heading…”

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong. Whores get paid, Malfoy. Some even have the luxury as to choose whether or not they want to sleep with a patron,” Harry corrected him, and bitterly so. “My master chooses who I sleep with for me because I am a slave. I do not have those rights, you snobby prat…but you can call me whatever you want if it gets you out of my room faster. I’ll play the part, just give me a minute.” 

“Yeah, you better play along, Potter. I want the whole shebang.” Yet Draco paused his taunting to allow Harry to compose himself, out of pity or something…He wasn’t exactly sure what slowed this vicious bullying he had been saving up six long years for, but it did not seem appropriate any longer. 

Harry had no idea why he was so nervous. His heart pounded in his throat while Draco situated himself on top of him. He fisted the bedclothes and focused on the canopy above. He could feel the Slytherin’s erection press down upon his pelvic bone, and felt disgust that the other boy could actually get it up after all that was being said. Fingers gripped his chin, swaying his attention away from the shiny, purple haze to look upon his tormentor. “Ugh…” 

Draco exhaled slowly. Every nerve in his body reacted to the sweet feeling of having Harry Potter trapped underneath him, at long last. It felt so wrong but so right to be there on top. He hovered over him blindly, pinning Harry’s wrists to the mattress with his knees, relishing in the splendour of making a delusion become reality. Everything was perfect. 

His eyes opened to look upon the beautiful face in his hands, his fantasy, his dream boy - and froze. Harry was lying there like a dead body, blinking occasionally only to keep his eyes from watering too much. Draco’s posture sagged with disappointment. “Yeah, that’s not working for me. Look at me, Potter.” 

“I am looking at you, Malfoy,” Harry replied, still dead-eyed. He made a little face at the boy by crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue for a moment before lazing back into a corpse-like status. 

“No, don’t do that - Pretend like you’re alive at least, Potter,” Draco ordered, ignoring the banter. “Like you want this. I want you begging for it like a dog. Beg me to take you.” 

“Yeah no,” Harry mumbled under his breath as he went back to playing half-dead. “I’m not begging you for anything.” 

Draco caressed Harry’s chin with the tips of his fingers, mesmerised with how delicate his features were up close. “You’re really pretty, you know? I like your lips, they’re all squishy and full,” he murmured unconsciously, and then cringed. _Squishy and full?_ He could have kicked himself. 

Harry merely blinked in response. 

Throwing that aside, Draco became entranced with the flawlessness of his bone structure. Surely the boy had been restructured to look more soft and attractive, as proprietors usually did to their slaves who were used for sex to make them more money. He ran the pad of his thumb across Harry’s lips and purred. “And I like the way you’re all painted up. You look really exotic.” 

Harry was trying to read Draco’s behaviour. He was still distrustful, perched beneath him in such a way as to throw him off if Draco made any sudden moves he did not like. “Time’s running out. You just want to have one off, right? And then you’ll go?” he asked carefully as he tested the weight on top of him. 

Draco’s intense gaze contorted into a sneer as he snatched Harry’s wrists and pinned them together. Now hunched over him, straddling the boy’s hips, he was dominating this situation once and for all. “Not so fast, I’ve got three hours. You have to do what I say, right?” 

With an eye roll, Harry nodded. “Yes, I suppose.” 

“That’s what I thought.” Draco was in heaven. He sat back on his heels with a smirk. “Now shut up and spread your legs.” 

“Right,” Harry said through gritted teeth. Draco had him cupped under the bum and lifted his hips off the bed. The warm scent of bubbling poppies wafting through the air did little to lighten the trepidation of submitting to this former rival. 

It was also terribly exciting, though, Harry had to admit. He had not spoken so nastily to anyone in nearly six years. It felt fantastic to let go and open up, even at the cost of being made to submit to Draco bloody Malfoy. He snickered triumphantly, feeling quite vain. “So, how do you want me, Malfoy? Should I pretend to want this, or should I act natural and vomit all over you?” 

Draco thrust forward, forcing Harry deeper into the mattress in order to put a scare back into him. “Maybe I’d prefer you all tied up and gagged while I do my worst to you. How’s that sound, prick?” 

Harry went stiff, once again looking helpless and frightened, this time even more so than before. At some point in time in Draco’s life that would have made him very happy - but not today. He learnt about this in class; about the slaves and the torture they endured, and how the younger generation should not beat their slaves lest they go bad or get broken. Harry was probably abused quite a bit, and threats would only serve to make him to curl up into himself more than he already was. 

He tossed out empty threats often, but just now considered what it might feel like to be threatened if one had no means of fighting back. He only prayed that he hadn't ruined this opportunity, that Potter would give in to him easily to avoid being hurt. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I got carried away.” 

“It’s alright,” Harry said in a small voice, hardly believing himself. His hair had come loose and was fanned out around him, framing his face like a halo of darkness. His eyes were wide and mistrustful, locked onto him out of fear. 

“No, it’s not alright,” Draco elaborated as he leaned back down, letting his own mane of baby-fine white hair tickle Harry’s nose. He felt he needed to let him know that he meant what he said. “I promise you I will never hurt you.” 

After six years of captivity, Harry had only dreamed of someone saying something so sincerely to him that he could read the truthfulness in their words as it resonated through their eyes, like the Dark Lord and Tom could. And there it finally was, sitting right on top of him. He relaxed again, and even smiled. “Thank you.” 

“You shouldn’t have to thank me…for scaring you.” It had honestly never occurred to Draco before what servitude meant. He could not imagine himself in this predicament, forced to do who knows what to whoever someone else allowed to sleep with him, without any say. He leaned in even closer, so that his chest pressed down over Harry’s. “I’ll understand if you don’t want this. I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to. I’ll go.” 

But Harry didn’t want him to leave any more, not after watching Draco speak from his heart; to regret his words and now understand what Harry was going through. No one, outside of the other slaves who worked in the bordello, had ever bothered to even pretend to understand before. Something sparked a fire within him, and despite the threat of violence he now knew in his heart that Draco Malfoy would not hurt him. He sat up, lacing his fingers at the nape of the Slytherin’s neck and held on. “I don’t want you to go.” 

Desperate to keep that look of trust now shining bright on Harry’s face, Draco reached out with a hand, and ran it through the boy’s dark hair, marvelling at the strength and shine. “It used to be so messy,” he murmured softly, twisting some lengthy strands of it between his fingers. Slowly, he moved on and began a journey, touching the boy’s face, then along the line of his neck, tracing his collarbone before slipping the dressing gown off of one of his shoulders. 

It was clear now that Draco was a lover, or would be later on in his adulthood. He had probably never been with a paid companion or slave before. Tom had never looked into his eyes this way, never stopped to touch his skin. Chills spread down the length of Harry's arms and legs. He closed his eyes, sighing while he relished in the attention. 

Draco was so completely aroused. Every nerve in his body tingled at the thought of claiming this enigma trapped in his arms. Rolling his hips for more friction, and gently slipping a finger between two well oiled cheeks, Harry emitted a sound that made every hair on Draco’s body stand straight up. It was the sexiest thing he had ever heard; it was a vibrant hum of utter bliss that shocked even Harry. 

Startled, the catamite’s wide green eyes locked with Draco’s. “What did you do?” he breathed, sliding his arm along the sheet to wrap it around Draco’s neck. “It felt kinda good.” 

“Course it did. I’m quite skilled at the art of sex,” Draco murmured, feeling quite smug. He wiggled his finger around, applying pressure to the sensitive nerves so Harry would make that sound again. Suddenly, the idea of making Harry feel really good mattered a lot more than getting off on him. This was going to be fun. “I’m very good with my hands, Potter. I can make you feel like you’re in heaven if you play your cards right and put a sock in it.” 

Harry began to pant, his arm tightened around Draco’s neck. He hardly heard the Slytherin’s encouragement for the blood thrumming loudly in his ears. “Oh gods, oh my gods…” 

“Yeah, that’s right, big boy.” Draco pressed his lips to Harry’s chin, smirking. “Still gonna vomit on me?” 

“Ye—no,” Harry grunted in response, meeting each thrust with strenuous voracity. His master was a generous man, he was kind, although he had never once given Harry such a jolt of immediate pleasure in all of their time spent together, not even once…But this was wrong. He was wrong for enjoying this, especially wrong for letting his guard slip so that Draco knew he was enjoying it. He gritted his teeth and gave Draco a shove upward. “Enough, get it over with already! You’re wasting time!” 

Being no amateur in the act of foreplay, Draco’s head swayed to and fro as he paused to point at his watch. “We’ve got loads of that left, git, shut up.” He held a sinister gleam in his grey eyes as he plucked Harry’s legs up off the bed and tucked his knees into the crooks of his arms. _Humiliated—yep. Conquered—mhmm._ “Arch up, lift your arse up, prat,” he ordered. “Brace yourself; we gon’ fuck.” 

Harry dug his elbows into the bedding and slid forward to accommodate him. He was incensed with the Slytherin, in a way, but equally enthralled by the painstakingly knowledgeable manoeuvring Draco was using to bring him close to orgasm. His arched back went rigid, being suddenly filled by slippery-wet cock. A warm hand flattened over his spine to hold him up. It wasn’t horrible, he told himself and watched Draco loll his head to adjust to the feeling. It was, in fact, the least painful insertion Harry had ever experienced as of yet. Nonetheless, he braced for the oncoming assault of the rough, humiliating sex that always followed. After all, men are slime. 

“Gods, make that noise again, Potter,” Draco whispered behind a veil of white hair. Anchoring Harry’s legs in his arms, he reached down and took the boy’s cock. Instantly, Harry flopped against the mattress with a moan. 

Definitely conquered. 

Slowly, the Slytherin ran his thumb along the base and dragged it over the head. “Yeah, that’s the sound. You like that, don’t you?” 

Teeth clattered from the shiver trickling down Harry’s spine. No one had ever touched him in such a way, not like this. The pleasure, whether it was for Malfoy’s amusement or he truly wanted Harry to feel good, was very welcome. Another quivering purr slipped past his lips. He clamped his legs to Draco’s sides and shoved forward, returning the heat. 

Draco found himself in midst of moaning bliss himself. He opened his eyes, taking in the precious thing wrapped around his hips. He tugged Harry’s dressing gown open and leaned in to inhale the inviting fragrance on his skin. “Do you like being _fucked?_ ” he asked through a lunge, emphasising the word ‘fuck’ as filthily as he could. 

“Ng—it’s all right,” Harry groaned back, and wiggled against the throbbing passion jamming his insides together. “I don’t mind it so much anymore.” 

“C’mon, that can’t be right. You must like something about it…You like this, don’t you?” Another burying thrust and a twisted transfer of smoldering need along his prick, and Harry surrendered his every part. He mewed and mewed, boneless, heaving hot breath through his parted lips. There was nothing between them now. 

Harry screwed his eyes shut, losing himself in the moment. “Okay, yesyes, fancy that.” 

Draco shoved inward and dropped over Harry, landing on his hands. He wanted to kiss those squishy lips and feel his tongue move around inside Harry’s mouth, claim it as his own, and make him kiss him back. With their noses touching, Draco nudged them to recapture his notice. “Put your arms around my neck and kiss me, Potter.” 

Bright green flooded Draco’s vision. “Oh, but I don’t normally kiss anyone…with my tongue?” 

“Yes, with your bloody tongue, you nance, kiss me,” Draco ordered. 

“Fine.” Harry moved up, encircling Draco’s long neck. Wisps of silvery-white hair tickled his face as they leaned into the other, and pressed their lips together. 

They felt exactly as Draco imagined. The soft, spongy resistance of Harry’s mouth claimed every last bit of his desire. He could have stayed in that position all night, if not for the gnawing need to continue screwing the hell out of him. Slowly, he parted his lips, kissing Harry fully on the mouth. A gentle coax of his tongue, another pelvic thrust, and Harry’s lips opened as his eyes fluttered closed. 

Their tongues slid moistly along the other, twining and sweeping while their bodies melded as one. Harry’s smooth skin was flush with arousal. His head tipped back, his arms fell apart as his body was yanked up off the bed, granting Draco access to his throat. “No, not horrible,” he burbled out. He was thoroughly engrossed in the sucking and nibbling on the lobe of his ear, far too gone to feel anything else. 

Draco was a lover, pure and simple. He was doing things to Harry that no one had ever done to him before. “I fancy loads of things. You could do whatever you want to do to me.” It would not matter what happened between them, he would never have to see him again or hear the smattering of gossip that will no doubt spread quickly through the wizarding world, for Harry was a slave, a catamite, and he would never be returning to that life ever again. 

“I could do anything?” 

“Anything,” Harry promised, hoping he might do something daring. “Anything you want.” 

Draco pulled his tongue back into his mouth, letting the prospect of another visit flit through his mind. He was so close to coming as it was, any sudden movement would set him off. “I could spank you? Tie you up?” 

Harry nodded through his euphoria. “Uh huh, I’d love it so much if you did.” 

“Force you to do whatever I wanted?” _On the edge of oblivion, toying with the cusp, so bleeding close…What was that last part?_ “Make you sit on my face, or suck on my cock for hours?” 

“Mon Dieu,” Harry whimpered. His fingers curled around Draco’s, moving their hands as one over his shaft. “I’m gonna come for you, Malfoy.” 

Everything grew small and dark. The room blurred, the temperature blazed. Nothing had ever felt so perfectly timed. Draco was coming at the exact same moment as Harry. From deep within, warmth, like no other, forced its way throughout his body. A dizzying storm of gratification soared through his veins. Harry writhed beneath him with convulsions, looking as beautiful as any one thing Draco had ever laid eyes upon. This was meant to be. 

This was fate. 

* * *

Alecto tapped the face of her watch repeatedly as she cornered Bellatrix into a wall. “That Malfoy boy is still in there. What do you think will happen if _You-Know-Who Jr_ shows up tonight? I’m not taking the fall for your nephew’s presence!” 

Pulling on a cigarette and dropping her head with a sneer, Bellatrix blew the white smoke in the stout woman’s face. “I’ll handle it,” she hissed, and walked out of the office. 

Slipping quietly into the chamber, Bellatrix waved her wand to disperse the lamps and dim the lighting. “Harry,” she whispered, crossing the room. She parted the veil and gave the sleeping boy’s shoulder a shake. “Harry, dear, wake up.” 

Harry opened his eyes. “Do I have company, Mistress Bella?” 

“As a matter of fact you do, and he’s sleeping right next to you!” she pointed out. “He has to go. What do you think would happen if Mr Riddle came to call and he was still here, hmm? His three hours had passed two hours ago.” 

“Oh!” Harry gasped; only just realising he was entangled in Draco Malfoy’s endlessly long limbs. The socialite was snoring soundly beside him, locking their naked bodies together. Without disregard of waking him, Harry pulled himself free and sat up. “I’m so sorry, Mistress Bella. I must have fallen asleep.” 

“Really, it’s all right, Harry. Get into the tub. I’ll get rid of him and send one of the girls in to bathe you.” 

Watching the sleepy, half-blinded boy pad across the room, Bellatrix shook her head as she gripped Draco by the arm. “Wake up, you,” her tone changed, sounding more like a tease than anything else. “Naughty birthday boy, did you like Auntie’s present?” 

Draco stretched along the silk sheets of the bed, feeling quite at home. A smile perked his drowsy visage as he looked up at the dark-haired woman. “Very much, you wicked, wicked woman…and I want more. When can I return?” 

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his ear. Both sets of grey eyes centred on the boy bent over the bathtub as he prepared the ritual of bathing to his master’s liking. “He didn’t give you any trouble, did he? I’d hate to have to paddle that sweet little arse for disobeying his mistress. Or perhaps I could have you paddle him for me, if you can keep this arrangement hush-hush. Your daddy’s Galleons are always welcome here, Draco.” 

“Lovely. When can I return?” he asked again. 

Bellatrix smiled, sinisterly so. “His master visits with him on Fridays, although he has been known to get very busy and switch days up without notice. There’s also another who comes round once a week, normally on Mondays. There are various others who drop by unannounced, but your money is just as good as theirs, and if you were to get here first, well…I would have to turn them away.” Her eyes flashed with denominational interest, hoping she had snagged the boy with her web. “I’m quite certain he’ll be free next Tuesday. Why not drop by then?” 

Fully dressed, with his long hair slicked back against his scalp, Draco gave the woman a curt nod. “Tuesday it is. Well, I’m off.” 

He walked by the tub and stopped, smirking. “So, yeah, had some fun, might be back for more. Next time I won’t go as easy.” 

“Whatever,” Harry retorted, slipping under the bubbles filled to the lip of the tub. His legs fell apart, and his hand dipped under the water between them. “Your time is over. I’m washing you off of me now so I can feel clean again. Run along, Malfoy.” 

Taken aback, Draco leered at him. “Right. It’s so fitting you’ve been put into bondage to serve the better folk of our world, the ones with a future. Least you’re good for something, even if it is being a nasty whore.” 

Harry smirked as he shooed Draco away with a hand. "Piss off."

Draco left the room with debauchery filling his head and elation filling his heart. No longer would he have private affairs in Hogwarts. No more romps in broom cupboards or empty classrooms. The short list of men he filled his free time with would be tossed out the window. He did not care how much it cost. And he would not be bragging about this night to his friends. This was now the only thing that mattered. This rival, his obsession, was the only thing he ever wanted to sleep with anymore.


	2. Sick for Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry finds himself thinking about Draco after another violent evening spent with his master, Tom. And although he would never admit it, he is pumped when he finds out Draco has paid out an exorbitant amount of money to sleep with him again after he finally beats him at a game of Quidditch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to you all who gave me so many kudos! I love you! Muah!  
> 

**That Next Sunday**

With long wisps of dark hair splayed over her bare shoulders, Bellatrix twirled a thick strand between her fingers to hold the curl. Her floor-length corseted dress of creamy beige fit her sender form and shapely bust-line snugly. Her heavy-lidded eyes moved around the room and her painted lips pursed, watching her brood prepare for their evening meal. These times never went on without an argument, or bullying from one of the more dominant slaves to the less assertive ones. 

Hannah Abbott set the plates down around a large oval-shaped table, careful not to disturb the already-placed cutlery. She looked at her mistress, grinning. “I think I’ve got it this time.” 

But another person entering the room corrected her. “No, you don’. Zat eez not right.” 

The pink-faced blond Abbott looked up, glaring at the part-Veela through slits. “It’s fine this way. I'm not setting the table for the queen.” 

“No, zat doesn't matter, you poor, zimple girl.” Arrested four years back at Hogwarts during the Triwizard Tournament for being not fully human and a female, with the gull at attempting to be equal to the fully human males that were competing, Fleur Delacour was now a slave like the others who lived in the bordello. “Step azide. I show you again, Abbott.” She smiled at Hannah as she shifted several plates closer to the edge of the table. “Better, I theenk.” 

Hannah fumed internally. 

Harry stumbled into the room and looked around at the girls as they worked. He was wearing a charcoal-grey romper, with short white socks and strap shoes. The shorts of the one-piece suit hardly covered any part of his thigh, making him look very boyish - in the sleaziest sort of way. His dolly face was flush with colour, and sweat pooled in his eyebrows. Eager to pitch in, he looked around the open room for a task not yet completed. He swallowed his sadness for being useless during these times before speaking. “Can I help with something? Just something small, anything,” he enquired, lifting a set of embroidered napkins that were twirled in knots. “I could—” 

“Heavens, no!” cried Bellatrix, looking aghast as she lurched at the boy to swat the cloth out of his hands. “Put those down, Harry!” Her head whipped about to be sure no one saw him helping before she forced him down into a chair. “You, sit, now.” 

The idea of the boy doing any sort of chore was out of the question. Harry, being the Chosen One, was very important to their conquerer. Unique wizards and witches must be celebrated, pampered, even if they are lowly slaves who cannot go outside or think freely. If a client ever caught sight of their prize whore doing things that might be considered ‘manual labour’, it could easily tarnish the bordello’s sparkling reputation. Stars were stars, after all, and stars did not set tables. 

It was also young Tom’s wish that Harry be pampered and coddled, as the catamite of the junior Dark Lord ought to be. His darling Harry should want for nothing, outside of being set free. And, to the Dark Lord, Harry was a precious commodity in more ways than one; the boy kept Tom grounded after all, and that was highly important to him because Tom was a psychopath without any impulse control. 

Angelina Johnson put her arm around Harry’s sagging shoulders to comfort him. “Oh, honey, you look miserable. Are you, eww…You’re all sweaty.” The teen placed her hand on his forehead and shot a worried glance back at Bellatrix. “He’s still burning up. He’s had this for two days now, Mistress Bella. We need to call the healer.” 

Bellatrix grumbled as she moved around the table to check on her meal ticket’s health. Yanking his head back, she forced his mouth open and jabbed the tip of her wand inside. “Say ‘Ah’, Harry. Does your throat still hurt?” 

Harry cringed. “Not really,” he groaned, and wiped the sweat from his brow the moment he was released. Reserved anger swelled in his chest. This illness did not bode well for that evening. His master was coming that night, having finished raiding several days earlier than expected, and he had not yet been told of this predicament involving his catamite. “That bloody Malfoy’s given me gongarina, I just know it.” 

Sighing, Bellatrix shook her head. “It’s ‘gonorrhoea’, Harry, and no one has given you a thing. Everyone is thoroughly tested for disease before they are allowed inside. And I should tan your hide, Angelina, for putting this nonsense in his head!” 

“Eet eez Dragon Pox, as I’ve said!” Fleur announced, hiding a giggle behind her hand. She mimicked hanging from a noose, jutting her tongue out to drape it over her bottom lip when Harry looked at her. “Malfoy gave you Dragon Pox, ‘Arry. We weel miss you when you die!” 

Harry blanched. “Oh my gods, that’s always fatal, right? Am I going to die?” 

Angelina and Fleur snorted openly. 

Bellatrix gripped her wand in fury, spinning around to face the girls now crouching and laughing behind the table. “Will you two stop spouting that awful rubbish!?” 

 _“What rubbish is being spouted?”_  

Every head in the room turned, instantly recognising the cloaked figure now standing on the threshold of the dining room. He was statuesque, filling the length of the doorway. He was also quite svelte, and covered from head to toe in black. The pale skin of his handsome face nearly glowed from under his hood, and his dark eyes were flecked with pulsing blood. He folded back the hood and shook out his long wavy hair, centring his gaze on the fretting boy seated at the other end of the room. “What’s the matter, darling?” 

Harry stood from his chair and scurried toward him, keeping his head down. Within seconds, he was flush with the man’s robes, nearly hidden beneath. 

Slender fingers carded through and tightened in Harry’s tamed hair. “I asked you a question,” the young man whispered, looking downward. His words were nearly silent, terribly calm, but the tone was struck with authoritarian condescension. “It is polite to answer the question the first time I ask, Harry. I thought I’d taught you better.” 

Harry winced. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Tom, I didn’t mean to not answer you the first time. I was afraid to tell you - but I’ve contracted Dragon Pox,” he breathed, clutching his master around the middle. “And I’m probably going to die.” 

The young master’s crimson-flecked eyes lifted and focused on the madam of the house of ill-repute. A dangerous smirk played on his lips and raised an eyebrow. The room grew cold. Everyone’s breath halted in anticipation, in utter fear. “Dragon Pox, you say? My goodness, dear, that sounds ghastly.” 

Bellatrix went white. She gasped, covering her throat with a hand. “He doesn’t have any sort of disease, that’s ridiculous! Harry, I told you to stop listening to these cackling hens.” She dared to look up at the boy’s master. She hated him with every fibre of her being. Oh, she loved the Dark Lord so, but she loathed this young man more than anything else in the whole world. “Oh, Mr Riddle, I promise you that Harry is fine. He’s got a little fever is all, and these awful heathens have talked him into believing the silliest things.” 

“Has he eaten?” Tom asked, ignoring whatever she was blathering. He pulled Harry in closer, pressing his cheek against his pectoral muscle. 

The wry grin on his lips faded when Bellatrix went stiff and shook her head ‘no’. 

The three girls in the room averted their eyes in shame. It had not mattered that Tom Riddle had arrived very early in the evening; Harry was always to be prepared and ready at any moment for his master’s return. 

“Oh…” The now twenty-two year old man pulled his cloak around Harry, shrouding him in his embrace, as if to shield his vision from the horror he was about to inflict on these useless whores. “How very unfortunate, I must say. Perhaps you can keep something warm for him and have it delivered in an hour or so.” 

It did not matter that dinner wasn’t served until six, or that Harry had refused to eat anything that day because he felt ill. “Forgive me. I’ll send something up as soon as it’s ready, Mr Riddle,” Bellatrix grovelled. 

“I suppose that’ll have to do.” Tom peered into the folds of his cloak and stroked Harry’s head, resting on his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of the boy’s fever radiating off of it, and it annoyed him. Without excusing them from the room, he whispered, “ _~Let’s go now, dear,~ ”_ to him as he lifted his head up to turn him around. 

Tom turned to leave. “Uh, may I ask, sir: is your master planning to visit anytime soon?” She dared the question, it on the tip of her tongue since his arrival. Lord Voldemort was a very special visitor, the one true V.I.P., and he only came to spend time with her. His visits were much less predictable than Riddle’s. 

The forced smile twitched on Tom’s lips. “Not for some time, I’m sure. As you know he is a very busy man. He's working very hard on that breeding program he wants to put into place. We’ll be in my chambers if he does come to call. Aside from that and Harry’s dinner, I want no disturbances this evening.” Feeling the warmth radiating off of his boy, he gripped Harry’s shoulder harder and steered him out of the room.

* * *

Twined around Tom’s legs, with his hands clasped together and resting on the young man’s knee, Harry stared up at his master for what seemed like hours, watching him lazily flip through magazine after magazine. His charcoal-painted eyes blinked owlishly as each page was turned. There was blood crusted around his nostrils, and his cheeks were flush. His tongue darted out to lick the skin of the smooth kneecap his chin was perched upon. “Are you going to punish me all night, Tom?” he asked politely, worried about the quiet demeanour his master had decided to take on, he was blatancy ignoring him. 

The room was decorated with black leather upholstery, and the walls and floor were squared with wood, stained in deep wine-red. Tom was nestled into an ornate throne in the back of the room, the piece of furniture only visible when he came to call on his catamite. Without giving him the honour of looking up from the racy tabloid, he reached down and closed Harry’s mouth for him. “Please remain silent until I’m finished.” 

Choking back a threatening sob, Harry nodded in understanding and lowered his head to his chest. He hated himself when he disappointed Tom. He felt such incredible worry and fear, and would do anything to make it up to him. Tears welled up in his eyes. Tom could be good to him when he was not angry, kind to Harry when the boy was sweet and obedient. But when Harry disobeyed him - then things were bad. Harry would suffer, certainly, but sometimes others would suffer because of his actions, too. How could he have been so stupid as to have forgotten to answer him? 

After a long moment of quiet resolve and tiring of the tears streaming down his bare leg, Tom lifted the boy’s pretty face trying to nuzzle in between his thighs. “Are you quite through with your blubbering yet?” 

“Yeah, course, Tom.” Harry rubbed the tears away and gave him a nod. The drippy charcoal-paint was smeared all over his face. His jewelled collar felt tight around his bobbing throat, constricting his rasping breath. He got on his knees, squirming his way through the part in Tom’s legs to rest his head on the man’s abdomen. The sorrow evaporated the instant those beautiful, spidery-long fingers came down to stroke his swollen, bruised cheek. Harry moaned with contentment, knowing his master had at last forgiven him. 

Nestled between the dimples above Harry’s bum, etched into the flesh, was the wicked brand of Lord Voldemort. With its coffin-shaped head and hooded neck raised over its slithering body, the black mamba was poised to strike. Tom called to it under his breath, bringing the vivid tattoo to life. Biting his bottom lip in anticipation, he traced a finger along its hood while expelling an appreciative sigh. “You may speak again if asked a question, dear.” He raised the boy’s chin with the tips of his fingers. “So tell me; have you learnt your lesson, Harry?” 

“Yes, Tom,” Harry said, breathing more steadily now. 

Tom leaned to the edge of his chair to cup Harry’s heart-shaped bottom. His tongue slithered along his own bottom lip while sinking his fingers in the gap between Harry’s thighs. 

Oiled and wanton, Harry parted his legs further apart for him. Tom frowned, noting how poorly Harry’s health appeared. He gripped the boy's chin, turning his head side by side, seeing the markings of his temperament covering his battered face. "I didn't mean to strike you. I don't know why you force my hand, why you go out of your way to humiliate me in front of the whores and their whore-queen." 

 _It wasn't just once._ "It's all right, Tom," Harry replied. 

Tom's eyes were wide with confusion. "I just get so angry when you disappoint me. I just can't understand why you don't listen." 

Harry exhaled a breath of sadness. "I don't know, Tom. I'll try harder." 

“Your skin is so warm. Are you still feeling unwell?” he asked him, looking perturbed. If Harry could not perform for him, someone else would pay for this insult. Bellatrix or Hermione...or both. "Would you rather lie down for a while?" 

 _Damn you, Draco Malfoy._ Harry had nearly forgotten about the case of Dragon Pox he had been cursed with. “Don’t worry about me, I feel fine.” 

Threading a finger through the silver ring of Harry’s collar, Tom yanked the boy’s head up to eye-level. “Never lie to me, boy. Look at me,” he ordered with softness and calm, forcing Harry to meet his gaze. “You know that I only want the truth from you at all times. Remember, I can always tell when you lie.” 

Another wracking fit of weeping fought to surface. Harry’s chin quivered with disappointment at his own actions. “Oh gods, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to ruin your evening. I want you to be happy with me.” 

“Of course you do, dear. And I am,” Tom replied, giving the boy a pat on the head. “I’m very pleased with your progress, Harry. It is gracious that you now consider my feelings above yours. It shows me impressive obedience, and I am proud of you for that. So tell me, are you feeling well enough to be ravaged by your master tonight?” 

Harry began to pant with anticipation. He grinned from ear to ear. Tom was proud of him. “Oh, yes. It’s only a silly fever. I’m ready for whatever you want to do to me. Anything you want, Tom, anything.” 

“Good.” Tom rose up, raising Harry’s sylph form up against him in the process. He tipped his chin up, gazing at the inflamed and glistening visage of the angel in his captivity. He pulled his wand free to heal his face up and fixed his make-up. "How do you think I’m planning on claiming you tonight?” 

Harry blinked. “Are you asking me, Tom?” 

Tom gave him a nod. “What do you think I want to do to you?” 

Awed, Harry’s mouth fell slack as he went over his options. His pink tongue teetered along his bottom lip, deep in thought. He could have anything planned. Perhaps Tom might throw him on the bed, caress his body with those amazing large hands until he screamed for mercy. They could lick and suck on every inch of each other’s bodies, and writhe under the sheets until all vestiges of energy were depleted. He felt his heartbeat increase. Slowly, brightened eyes moved and locked with Tom’s, and a pixyish guise formed so prettily. “Oh, Tom, something very sexy and naughty, I hope! Please tell me before I burst!” 

Cupping his face, Tom ran his tongue along Harry’s sweet lips, purring like a kitten. “I’m going to carry you to the bed, throw you down, and rip these racy little panties off.” His fingers slid under the sheer fabric, cupping Harry’s bottom. “Spread you wide open and let you feel my perfection. I’m going to ride you so hard that you won’t walk right for a week. How does that sound?” 

 _That’s it?_ Harry blinked. _No stroking caresses, no petting? Just…sex? At least Malfoy touched…_  

 _No. No, no, no . Don't think about him. Clear your mind._  

Harry shook the thoughts away quickly. Wanting anything more from Tom would only lead to trouble. He loved Tom, he worshipped him. Harry had accepted the controlling hand that ordained his life a long time ago. Tom had given him so much, and that one silly encounter with Malfoy meant nothing, even if what Malfoy did to him was now dictating what he wanted in a sexual partner, something he would probably never have. 

His master was looking on him with desire, and nothing in the world could match the wondrous feeling of being wanted. He told himself that this was perfectly fine, that he loved it when Tom had his way with him and then fell asleep. “Oh, yes, please,” Harry begged, slipping his arms around Tom’s neck. “Please take me to bed, Tom. I’ll do anything you want, I’ll do anything for you.” 

Sweeping Harry up into his arms, Tom moved to the bed and lowered him over the black suede sheets. His words were slurred with the soft hiss of Parseltongue. _~“I know, Harry, I know. You are so obliging for your master, dear, and you’re all mine.”~_

* * *

The next evening, sitting up in bed, with his legs pulled into his chest and knees pinned together, Harry groaned pathetically. He could hardly hold himself up, weakened further from this mysterious ailment wracking his body. He pulled his glasses off and set them on a lacy pillow. His vision spun in and out of focus, and the glasses merely emphasised the nausea gurgling around in his stomach like sludge. 

“I can’t believe Malfoy could get away with trying to murder me, Mistress. He should be put in Azkaban. It’s because he kissed me on the mouth. He used his tongue, too; that’s why I’m so ill. He put his tongue in my mouth. Nobody puts their tongue in my mouth.” 

“Stop being a ninny, all the girls use their tongues to kiss. You can’t tell me you’ve never been tongue-kissed by a client before, Harry. That’s ridiculous.” 

Harry gaped at her, awed. “Well I haven’t, Mistress! Not even Tom- I mean, I’ve never been kissed before is all…” 

“How very odd.” Bellatrix pressed a hand to the boy’s sweaty forehead. Concern cemented itself on her features. “Gods, you’re burning up, kiddo. The healer said this should have passed by now.” The bottle she’d been given to cure Harry’s fever was tossed across the room, useless. She had to do something before Tom or the Dark Lord returned, her main duty was to keep Harry healthy and happy. Also, losing a client over an illness was one thing, but this was Harry, and, besides Fleur, this boy alone raked in more Galleons for her than any of the other whores combined. 

Bellatrix had housed the boy for Lord Voldemort for the past five years. Her orders were to keep him young and pretty, well fed, in proper health, surrounded by wealth, and always in good spirits. He was to be adequately punished whenever disobedient, and taught to follow very strict orders without question. 

His magic, although a bit less than the other whores, was inhibited, and he was never allowed any outside information from any source. In return for these services, Bellatrix was granted authority to sell his body for sexual favours if she followed the stringent rules given to her in his regard, and any outsider’s visit could never coincide with the arrival of Lord Voldemort’s resurrected enigma, Tom Riddle. Harry was only allowed to service one client per day, and they could only be of pure-blood status and in the lord’s favour. 

“How do you feel about drinking an Invigoration Draught?” 

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.” 

Tonight, a very faithful client would be arriving and would expect Harry to be in tip-top shape. He was a well paying customer who demanded everything be in perfect order before his arrival. He enjoyed ‘chasing’ the boy around in various states of undress, so he could ‘capture’ him to have his way with him, with each new encounter a work of his own vivid imagination. 

Downing a bottle of potion shoved into his hand, Harry drank every drop. Bellatrix was bent down and in his face, looking for a sign of hope. “Well?” she asked him, watching colour fill in the hollow of his cheeks. “Did it work?” 

Harry gave her a grin. “I feel okay now. Who am I tonight?” he enquired, and watched the woman tense up with glee. 

"Wait until you see it, this is Alecto's design." She pulled out her wand and waved it around the room. Everything began to shift, darken, and contort into an outdoor setting. The ceiling swirled with greying clouds, the furniture lengthened into trees, and the bed he sat upon sprouted vines and white lilies that snaked around each post. A pool of sparkling water rippled out in the distance. They were now in midst of an enchanted forest. Birds chirped and trees rustled. 

Blinking rapidly, Harry closed his arms around his chest, chilled from the light breeze. “Whoa, I love it.” 

“Dora!” shouted Bellatrix through the charmed door. “I told you I needed you to deliver that costume you wore for Mr Stebbins right now! Hurry, girl!” 

Nymphadora Tonks crashed into the room with a **_*bang*_** , hitting the door frame as she carried in a whimsical, heavily-beaded garment, with wisps of sea-foam and turquoise-coloured gauze filmed all over it. “Here, Mistress, all ready for you,” she said through heavy breath, handing the delicate ensemble to the taller woman. Her eyes scanned the vast space that was once a garish chamber, and gasped. “Merlin’s beard, look at this scenery!” 

“All right, Dora?” Harry enquired, muffling a giggle behind his hand. 

Tonks gave him a wink. “Wotcher, Harry. Have a good time tonight. Don’t let Crouch tear this too much. It’s hard to repair fabric this sheer when you’ve been hobbled from using magic.” She jiggled her ankle bracelet to annoy their mistress. 

“I’ll do my best, no promises though,” he said with a grimace, knowing it would most likely be torn from his body at some point in the evening. “You know how he gets.” 

Bellatrix smacked the Metamorphmagus’s hand, scowling. “Why aren’t you ready? I told you Mr Crabbe had picked you to be his date since Harry was taken tonight! He’s in the parlour, has been for fifteen minutes now!” 

After a roll of her eyes, Nymphadora squeezed them shut in concentration. “Bloody Crabbe and his big, fat hands and his teeny-tiny little winky...Ah, forget it. He’s not so bad if you breathe through your mouth.” 

After a few seconds, she began to morph into an exact replica of Harry Potter. She cackled, watching Harry scrunch his nose in revulsion. “You wait, Little Prince, the one who gets all the handsome clients,” she teased him as she slipped out the door, “One of these days I’m going to sneak in here and make love to you—just like this!”

* * *

The calm, slow night Alecto had promised herself came to a screeching halt. Monday evenings were the weakest of any day, and today had been no exception - until that moment. She shoved her enormous piece of moon-drop cake off to the side and dropped her chin on her palm, waiting for a punch line to be delivered. Draco Malfoy was either very simple-minded or completely loopy if he thought she would allow him to just waltz into Harry’s chambers while he was in session with a paying customer. “Tell me, boy, what sort of drugs do you young wizards do these days?” 

“I’m not on drugs, you thing-of-a-woman, I was promised an appointment on Tuesday, and it’s Tuesday!” Draco stood above her chair, trembling with rage. _Tuesday, it was Tuesday…Promised a go on Tuesday ._ “How long does the bloke inside usually stay?” 

“Technically.” The stout woman’s face was pinched with agitation. “It’s just past midnight. If you do not back away from me this instant I will have my brother there remove you from this building, as well as one or more of your limbs from your body. Thank you in advance.” 

The squat, fierce-looking doorman snarled in Draco’s direction. Draco quickly backed down. “Can I at least leave a note or something? Maybe I can wait around and talk with him after his session has ended.” 

“What are you- thick? You don’t get it, do you?” she scolded back, looking cross. “Harry is not some Quidditch superstar to be fawned over; he - is - a - slave. He doesn’t chat with anyone or receive notes unless we are amply paid. Besides, his current visitor always stays the whole night. He won’t be available for ‘talking’ until morning.” 

Draco leaned on the desk, looking desperate. “I want to see him again soon…this afternoon...all day. What’ll it cost me? I’ll pay it.” 

With a titter of victory, the woman held out her hand. “Pay me now, be here no later than six tonight, and I’ll be sure the little Prince is prepared in any way you want him.” 

Dropping his moneybag on the desk, Draco reached inside and grabbed up a handful of Galleons. “I want him all night, too.” 

“It’ll cost extra.” 

“No kidding, cow. How much extra are we talking about?” Draco turned the bag over and emptied it out onto the reception desk. “I’m loaded,” he added, smirking. 

Alecto’s eyes lit up. “Yes, that’ll do.” She gazed at him, batting her stubby eyelashes. “And how do you want him?” 

Draco shrugged at the question. “I want him all night.” 

Chomping on imaginary bubblegum, Alecto began reading over a parchment protected under the glass surface of the desk. “If you want to role play, we would have the room setting and his garments altered to your fancy. You could make him do anything, like read the paper to you while you bathe in champagne, or have him bark and follow you around like a dog. He could be your French maid, a medical patient, farm hand, kidnap victim, stripper, medi-witch, sex slave, naughty schoolboy, secretary, tarted-up whore, virgin, pony boy—” 

“Quidditch Seeker!” Draco blurted, silencing the woman. His fingers were splayed over the desk as he leaned in closer so only she could hear him. He shook from head to toe, dizzied by the thought of finally beating Harry in a match. “Would that be possible?” 

“Ooh, yes, of course it’s possible. He’ll like that; he’s a kinky little minx. Tomorrow at six, then,” she said, wagging her pencilled eyebrows, and snatched up the coins. 

“Excellent.” Draco returned her confident half-smile. “I’ll be here.”

* * *

Harry could not shake the feeling of being had. His head pounded from fever, and finding out that Draco Malfoy was indeed returning less than one week after giving him a disease made him want to throw himself into a den full of lions. He felt dizzy, pacing the chamber room. 

“This is seriously not fair. I thought this was a one-time deal; he’d get off on me and never return. How could she allow him to come back? He’s a prat. He’s a right-ruddy-arrogant-son-of-a-Death Eater who cannot wait to goad again about me being a whore. How is he allowed to leave school? I wasn’t allowed to leave school! I hate him, just so you know. Just thinking about tonight makes me want to spew chunks. Were you ever allowed to leave the grounds to go have sex with someone, Hermione?” 

“We’ve been slaves before we were teenagers, Harry,” Hermione reminded him. “Most preteens don’t visit bordellos. Besides, it doesn’t sound so bad, you know. Malfoy’s paid a lot of money to spend the evening with you, and that means none of the Death Eaters allowed to sleep with you can stumble in here tonight, drunk, so they can take out their short comings on you.” She tapped a fist on his skull. "Use your head." 

“You should be honoured,” Hannah grumbled. “Some of us aren’t as lucky to have our clients screened by the Dark Lord for us, you know. Any bloke can stumble in and have their way with us. We don’t have a short list of hand-picked suitors who are not allowed to beat us up when they get the urge to.” 

“Oh gods, you’re right.” In mid pace, Harry stopped with a cringe. Guilt overpowered the anger. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think of it that way.” 

“Ignore ‘er, ‘Arry,” Fleur snapped, glaring at the girl. “She eez jealous because you are more beautiful than ‘er. _Be quiet, you ugly girl.”_  

Hannah stood up, furious. “That’s it-I’m telling Mistress Bella! You’re not supposed to pick on me anymore! And I’m not ugly! I’m telling on you, and I hope you get the stuffing knocked right out of you, you _bitch!_ ” She stormed out of the room with Fleur in tow, begging her to stop. 

Hermione put an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, I know how you feel. It’s hard to forget what a complete bully he was to us. Just keep your chin up, alright? Don’t let him break you. If it gets bad you can tell Tom, you know. He’d surely put an end to it.” 

“Well yeah, but at a price. I reckon Mistress Bella would tear the skin off of my back if I lost her this money. She thinks if I play along real well he’ll become a regular. Oh Merlin, that’s all I need…but on the bright side if I do snag him as a regular, she says she’ll let me have a permanent day off every week. His father’s loaded, she says. He collects and sells dark artifacts, which is huge right now!” He knew so little about the goings on outside of the bordello that it thrilled him to hear something about wizarding Britain when his mistress told him, anything at all. 

Hermione smiled. “That’s wonderful, Harry.” 

Harry shrugged, and took the girl into his arms. “Nah, it doesn’t help you.” 

“It does,” she whispered into his ear, and frowned, feeling the burning temperature of his skin against her cheek. “I won’t have to worry so much about you being with those awful Death Eaters. Having Malfoy as a regular and getting a day off will cut down on a lot of their visits. Besides, Malfoy’s not…well, you know…God, I hate saying this; he’s not unattractive. In fact, he’s really, really handsome, kind of a heartthrob.” 

“I wouldn’t know.” Harry hugged her close. “I try not to look at clients’ faces while they’re having their way with me.” 

“I hear he paid extra for a bit of role-play.” A flicker of mischief flashed in Hermione’s eyes. “What’s he going to make you do?” 

“You don’t want to know details,” Harry whispered back, blushing. “But it’s terribly sexy. I only wish Barty would have thought of it instead.” 

Hermione arched back to look at him. “I’m your best mate, you have to tell me!” 

“You two at it again?” plagued Bellatrix as she swished into the den room. Her skin-tight patent-leather dress prevented normal walking, forcing her to waddle like a penguin instead. She waved her hands fretfully, gesturing for them to part. 

“Don’t you get enough sex as it is? Harry, lie down on the settee, and Hermione, will you please start sticking up for Hannah whenever Fleur gets on her? You’re a smart girl, and they both look up to you. I’m putting you in charge of watching them. I swear if I hear that mousy little voice screeching in my ear one more time…” She pinched the bridge of her nose, groaning. 

“Yes, of course, Mistress Bella,” Hermione replied eagerly. The thought of being able to give it back to the part-Veela made her tummy do a flip. Authority and bossiness was somewhat of a speciality for hers. She grinned evilly. “I would be honoured.” 

Bellatrix shook a finger a her. “I knew you would, girl. Do keep them out of my hair before I snap.” 

Harry dropped onto the settee and tugged at his shorts, hating them. “Hey, if I can draw in Malfoy as a regular client, do you think I could start wearing trousers instead of having a day off, Mistress?” he asked, smirking as he looked up at her. 

She ignored him, and looked to the other instead. “Hermione, be a doll and wait by the door. I’m expecting Mr. Snape at any moment. He’s dropping off a potion to cure Harry of his ailment.” 

Hermione nodded excitedly and ran to the door without a word. Harry propped his head up, waiting to hear what he had. “It was Malfoy, wasn’t it, Mistress?” 

“Lift up, I need to sit.” She released a ragged sigh as she picked Harry’s feet up off the couch and dropped them in her lap. “Mordred, but this dress is so tight. No, it wasn’t Malfoy. I’m pretty sure it was that Diggory boy. I don’t know how he got past the reception desk unnoticed. I thought we were so thorough…Now I have to inform all of your clients of a potential STD they may have contracted, and advise them to take a curing draught. Do you know how difficult it is to even imagine telling Mr Riddle that he may have a sexually transmitted Muggle disease?” 

“Maybe you could embellish some,” Harry whispered innocently. “Tom won’t even look at you when you tell him if I get his attention. You could say there’s something going around, something undetectable, and taking the draught would prevent it if they haven’t contracted it already. You can pull it off, you’re the best liar I’ve ever met, Mistress Bella.” 

“I am a fantastic liar, aren’t I?” Bellatrix closed her heavy-lidded eyes and smiled. “Harry, you’re brilliant. That’s exactly what I’m going to do.” Her long-nailed fingers danced up along his leg, tickling him senseless, and he squirmed like a child. “I knew there was a reason you were my favourite. Now, calm yourself. When Snape arrives do exactly as he says. I want him out of here as soon as possible. Give him no reason to report anything unneeded back to You-Know-Who.” 

“Yes, Mistress Bella,” Harry said, catching his breath. Neither of them trusted the man one iota, but the Dark Lord was enthralled with him and, sadly, so was Hermione. There was nothing to do but accept his visits to her each and every week. He was a Death Eater, their leader’s favourite, and that was that.

* * *

Draco squeezed uncomfortably past Amycus Carrow’s large frame at the door and sprinted to the reception desk. Undetected escape from the school grounds was becoming a problem, fortunately it was nearly the end of term. Looking down at the squat woman behind her desk, Draco applied a whimsical smile. “It’s six, I’m here,” he said, breathing hard. He passed Alecto his wand and held out his hands to the bundle of clothing she had prepared for his arrival. 

“Get changed in there,” she directed, pointing to a door between the parlour and the whore’s den. “Meet me at the end of the hall. Everything is ready, you’ll be very pleasantly surprised.” She winked provocatively at the tall blond, and sashayed off into the corridor. 

Hardly able to control his racing heart and unsteady breath, Draco punched through the door of the public restroom and threw himself into the only stall. He practically tore his clothes apart trying to remove them, and then carefully lifted the replica of a Seeker uniform up to look it over. He dressed quickly, then stopped in front of the mirror hanging over the basin so he could fix his hair and practice some sinister sneering, needing everything to be perfect. 

Alecto hummed quietly to herself while she waited by the chamber entrance. She peeked inside, impressed with her handiwork. Never before had she created such realistic and intricate scenery within these walls, and her mind raced to think of what else she might be capable of doing. She threw a hand out behind her, catching Draco on the chest as he tried to shove past her to enter the room. “More rules, boy,” she informed him. 

Impatient as hell, Draco rolled his eyes, dropping his weight to one leg to withstand another speech. “Please, get on with it.” 

The woman turned to him with seriousness about her. “As I’d said the last time you were here, if you plan on harming him beyond the realm of a good roughing up, you need to let us know ahead of time. If Harry’s injuries become life threatening, the brand on his forehead will immediately alert his master to his slave’s peril. This is only something I can control if I’m aware of it. Take it as a stern warning…you do not want He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named apparating into that room in the middle of the night because you broke is boy-toy. And I’m not talking about the creepy younger version of our master, dear boy, I talking about the head honcho; the Dark Lord himself.” 

Draco gulped. “I see your point.” 

“Inside, on the left when you enter, is a wardrobe filled with things you may choose to use during your adventure. Harry is very skilled in several types of role-playing activities and has a pretty good idea of what you’re looking for. Have fun with it, make him work for what you want. You have exactly twelve hours to play, rest, wake up and play some more. You may, of course, exit through this door at any time. Harry cannot follow. By eight tomorrow morning, if you have not taken your leave, you will be asked to politely go, and if you refuse, we will remove you ourselves.” Alecto dropped her hand, smiling. She stepped away from the door, gesturing for him to enter. “Enjoy, Mr Malfoy.” 

The sudden jolt of churning excitement moved Draco’s legs onward. He stepped into the room, blinded, throwing his forearm over his eyes to block out the sun. A soft wind lifted strands of his hair, blowing them across his face. 

Uproarious cheering suddenly erupted in the distance. An announcer’s voice echoed across the crowd. Draco peered out with a hand covering his brow, and gasped. The smell of wild flowers and lake water was pungent in the air. Standing on a field of luscious green grass, dressed in robes of green, he was facing Hogwart’s Quidditch pitch. 

He whirled around, floored at the realism of being on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. For a brief moment, he was not positive it was an illusion at all. The school behind him was the vast, peaked castle in every sense he knew it to be. 

The cheering grew louder, catching his attention back to the pitch. Two Beaters were sailing east, trying to bat a black-iron Bludger away from hitting a boy wearing scarlet robes and scanning the skies for the Golden Snitch - A very familiar looking boy; Potter. 

Brimming with a mixture of ferocity and lust, Draco turned toward the wardrobe in desperate search for a broom of his own. He hesitated when he saw it perched up against an open door; a Nimbus 2001, a beautiful broom he had very fond memories of, but that was not what kept his attention. Gripping the stick, his eyes moved around, scanning the contents of the wardrobe’s innards. The various items of debauchery flushed his cheeks bright pink. 

 _“And Potter spots the Golden Snitch! This is a travesty if I’ve ever seen one, folks! Where in the world is Slytherin’s Seeker?_ ” 

The carried words drove every other thought from Draco’s mind. Finished with stuffing his pockets full of various items, he whirled around and mounted his broom. 

Harry was parallel with his broomstick, soaring upward toward a glinting golden ball twinkling in the clouds. His body conformed to the flying instrument, astounding Draco. The agility of his movements, swooping and diving around to avoid Bludgers and follow the erratic Snitch, was nothing short of spectacular. 

He had never noticed how graceful Potter became on a broom while they were on rival teams back in school. The boy was using his body to aid the broom to move faster than it should be able to, parting the air between he and the Snitch like a hot knife through warm butter. 

Draco immediately mimicked his dynamics to shoot up past the clouds. 

 _“Draco Malfoy has arrived and is hot on Potter’s heels! At last, the Slytherin Prince of Hogwarts graces us with his presence!”_  

It felt so real in every sense. The wind licked at his face, whipping his hair to and fro behind him. His robes clung to him like a second skin. Euphoria penetrated out through every part of his body. It had to be real, and yet, he could truly focus on nothing except Harry. The crowd was a blur. None of the stampeding individuals racing from their seats to watch the spectacle had any discernible features. They were illusions, although brilliantly done, reacting to his every manoeuvre as if he were some sort of international Quidditch superstar. 

Harry looked back, spotting Draco’s rapid approach. His hand shot out, reaching for the ever-closer Golden Snitch. “Thought you flaked out, Malfoy!” he shouted, looking completely gorgeous and wind-swept in his goggles and fluttering uniform. 

A fire ignited in Draco’s veins, watching the other boy try to best him once more. Harry’s hand hovered just centimetres from the Snitch, clawed, ready to clamp down upon the prize at any second. Draco hunched forward, increasing his velocity in order to edge up along Harry’s side and kick him in the face. 

Now, neck and neck, Draco’s eyes and mouth watered excessively. He was so close, he could smell Harry's clean hair, and could feel the heat radiating off of him. Passing through a thick cloud and without thinking, he groped out, catching Harry by the collar of his robes the very instant Harry’s fingers closed around the golden ball. He was victorious, having snagged the boy who had snagged the Snitch. Now both were Draco’s. 

Yanking Harry’s face around, with fingers threaded though his long, long hair, Draco bit down on his captive's bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth. “Gotcha.” 

Startled beyond reason, Harry flinched back. His hand slipped from the stick. He scrambled to correct it, feeling the smooth wood slide over the tips of his fingers, but it was too late - and he fell. 

“Oh Merlin,” Draco mouthed, looking down, watching Harry plummet out of sight. He could not be sure how real this illusion was, but the thought of killing Harry was out of the question, for two very important reasons; one being no sex tonight, the other being murdered by the Dark Lord. 

Pointing his broom south, he dove - hard and fast. With a speed he had never felt before on any broom, he lunged with aim, thankful that the ground was still a great distance away. 

 _“What’s going on up there? Potter and Malfoy are in the clouds! Has someone caught the Snitch?”_  

Draco closed the space between them, teeth gritted, arm thrust out, coiling his fingers around the hand still clutching the winning ball. Catching Harry by the wrist, he pulled up, stopping their free-fall. 

Harry was gaping up at him, as if he was surprised by this uncharacteristic rescue. “Well aren’t you a bloody saint!” 

Draco’s mood festered. He let Harry hang suspended for a moment while his breath caught up with him. “Somebody’s gonna be bloody if they don’t shut up!” 

“Let me go, you bastard!” Harry cried, kicking at the air to jostle himself free. 

Taking a swift dive, Draco released Harry’s wrist as he dipped down to grab him around the waist to set him on his broomstick. He curled his arm around him to keep him from trying to hop off. “Shut up, your not going anywhere.” 

Gryffindor Tower stood out in the distance, and a vicious thought banged into his head. _Tie Harry to his bed and shag the smarminess out of him. He needs to be taken down a peg or two. Show him who’s boss, violate him in every room in the castle. Do whatever you want, he is yours to command._ The tower window was open, inviting him to sail right inside. 

 _“No one can find the Seekers! Where could they be? Potter and Malfoy have disappeared!”_  

Harry was facing Draco, set down in the front of the broomstick. Gruellingly, he was forced to put his arms around Draco’s neck to stay balanced. “I need to show them I caught the Snitch so’s to end the game. Take us down, cheater!” 

“Call me ‘Head-Boy’ instead, and that’s out of the question, git. No winning for you,” Draco replied hotly, and bent into Harry’s chest to pull the broomstick up. “You’re at my mercy. If you want to stay pretty I would suggest doing whatever I say.” He grinned at Harry’s fuming visage and reached out, ripping the goggles off of his face. “Hmm, let’s start out slowly. Put your lips on my mouth and kiss me.” 

With a groan, Harry tipped his head and did as he was told. They sailed upward; lips parted and tongues scraping for dominance. Harry locked his limbs around Draco, fearing another fall. He hadn't noticed that his fever was gone. 

The announcer’s frantic shouting trailed off in the distance. Harry broke the wretched kiss and craned his neck for a look around. “You’re really not taking me back, Head-Case?  _Oops,_ I meant to say 'Head-Boy'. "

Draco rolled his eyes. “Ugh, just call me ‘Draco’.” 

"Okay then, Draco, enough already, this isn’t funny anymore! Take us down!” Harry appeared frightened, and trembled while he whimpered very sexily against Draco’s body, trying to pull it off as anger. 

Draco felt his cock harden with iniquitous arousal. _Oh, yeah, he’s good. Auntie has trained her prized whore very well…_  

The pitch faded off as the castle’s detail strengthened in intensity. Harry was making little mewling sounds in his throat against his neck, which only served to enforce Draco’s passion of wanting to plug up every one of his orifices with some sort of body part. 

“Hold on tight,” Draco warned, reducing the speed for their descent through the tower window. Harry curled into him, pressing their groins together, and Draco moaned out unconsciously. “Oh my god, Potter, what are you doing to me?” 

"I'm trying to stay alive!" Passing through the stone arch of the window, Harry gasped at how close their heads came to smacking against it. “Be careful, Draco!” he cried back and bucked hard against him. 

The feeling sent Draco reeling with pleasure. He nearly came right there on the broomstick from hearing the panicked enunciation of his name voiced from Harry’s lips. _Relax, don’t ruin this with a cheap grope. Eleven more hours to play, rest, and play some more._  

Plucking the Snitch away from Harry the instant they landed within the confines of the dormitory room, Draco ripped the wings off and held it up. “I win.” 

“You’re not gonna hurt me, are you?” Harry began backing away, holding his hands out defensively in front of him. “What do you want?” 

Draco sucked his teeth, looking slightly annoyed as he moved in for the kill. “You’ll find out what I want soon enough - get back here.”

* * *

The tickle of butterflies squirming around in his stomach primed each ghostly touch along the prettiest face Draco ever found himself looking at. He could hardly remember how they had gotten there, or how long it had been since the voices of the search party had drifted off, but he was certain that they were now alone and hidden well enough to try something out. There was only one slight problem - he had no idea what he was supposed to do. 

Desperate to be as sinister as his fantasies allowed, he knelt over his captive and gave him a brusque shove to the shoulder. He peeled off Harry’s shin guards and loosened the laces on his cleats, and was anxious to try out a few rickety taunts. With flushed cheeks and an over-spilling libido, he did his best to stay vile. “What’s the matter, Potty, gonna cry for me, widdle baby?” _I love you…_  

It hardly appeared that Harry might cry. He looked as if he was feeling quite smug and was unable to hinder the grin setting nicely on his lips. With a huff, Draco found it slightly easier to remain nasty. “You’re probably so used to this by now. I’ll bet everyone wants a piece of ickle Harry Potter and his perfect self. Well, I’m not part of the fan club, you little slut. You’re going to do whatever the hell I say—got it?” 

“Ooh, he pulls out the big guns and calls me a ‘slut’. Such a bad boy, aren’t you?” Harry tossed him a wink as he curled around the boy’s legs with his whole body. His hands were bound behind his back, hindering his urge to reach out and touch the crotch of Draco’s uniform. “If that’s what it takes to make this good for you—whatever you want. This is your idea of a good time, so, by all means…do your worst. I am completely at your mercy, after all.” 

Unfortunately, this was not Draco’s idea of a good time. Of course the imagery of having his way with the Boy-Who-Lived was very thrilling, but the word itself; thrilling; typically meant something scary, and that was exactly how it felt. _You’ve got him right where you want him!_ “Yeah, well, get ready, Potter…err…” 

What had he been thinking about when he had chosen such a frightening and fantastical adventure? Dragging the poor boy from room to room to find the perfect place to take his sweet arse had wounded them both, and Harry’s eyes slowly began to glaze over with something akin to boredom. He was being very good with taking and returning the endeavoured derision, but the evidence was growing clear; they both knew damned well that Draco Malfoy was all bark and no bite. 

Looking around with a squinting gaze, Harry was having a bit of trouble remembering the castle’s interior. “This doesn’t look like anywhere I’ve ever been. Where are we?” he asked, curious as to why Draco had removed them from the tidy dormitory and brought them to such a dark, dank, mildew-smelling shell-of-a-room. 

“D-dungeon Five, why?” _Don’t lose your goddamn nerve. You are a Malfoy, you’re practically a god! He’s yours—take him!_ “It’s uh…it’s a place we sometimes use to…You don’t like it?” Draco sighed and eased into the spot on the floor next to Harry, drawn to the warmness between them. “Never mind that, I’m having a little trouble with this. I’m not really accustomed to doing this sort of thing.” 

Harry propped his head on Draco’s thigh, looking directly at the boy’s crotch. “I can help you with that. I am a courtesan, remember?” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I meant, idiot. I mean this make-believe thing, pretending. I’m not sure what else to do…like, should I be nasty and throw you down or - ugh, this isn’t what I though it would be. I’ve sort of lost the desire to bully you once you left school. Do all of your umm…whatever you call them; admirers; do they all do this?” 

“Course not,” Harry clarified, and tried not to giggle through Malfoy’s awkward discomfort. He looked so utterly out of place, so unsure of what to do with his hands or mind. “Some of them just want to have sex with me.” 

Little could describe the boiling cauldron of envy that bubbled over within Draco’s insides upon hearing that other people, Death Eaters, paid good money just to be alone with and enjoy being in close confides with this boy. _I’m not jealous! I am not fucking jealous._ “Ugh, I’ll bet they do. So gross.” 

He turned his nose up, frowning. It was hard not to get upset over his fantasy’s goings on. His fingers slid along Harry’s scalp and clamped down on a handful of hair. _Bastard, I’ll just hurt you, wipe that sodding smile off your face. 'Ooh, they just wanna have sex with me.'_  

He could feel Harry tense and take a deep breath, preparing himself for something painful to happen. Draco looked down at his hand as a wave of guilt knocked some sense back into him. He pulled it back. _That’s not me. I'm just not used to being jealous. Oh my gods, I'm jealous of other people screwing him..._  

The pretty smile was gone. Harry’s lips were parted, questioning, his brow creased with uncertainty. Draco winced inwardly at what he had done. Harry’s valiant effort to conform to whatever mood Draco chose tugged at the remorse he felt for causing that sweet smile to disappear. _Idiot!_ “There was a…a thing in your hair.” 

“That was really clever, by the way,” Harry injected, lightening the darkening mood. He shook his head to dislodge whatever the thing was in his hair. “When you pulled that dive and catch manoeuvre with your broom after I fell off. You looked really skilled.” 

“Yeah?” Draco lit up. He pushed back the long strands covering Harry’s eyes like a sheepdog. “You think so? I’d only just thought of it. I didn’t want you to hit the ground.” 

The smile crept back into place on Harry’s face. He shifted uncomfortably on the cold floor, trying to ignore the pins and needles shooting through his hands. “Yeah, I thought it was brilliant. I have to admit, I was a bit jealous that you actually pulled it off.” 

 _Ooh, he's jealous, too!_ Draco’s eyes flitted toward the ceiling, and he smirked. “Well, I am the best Seeker in Hogwarts, so you know. McLaggen can't touch me.” 

Harry’s nose crinkled with confusion. “Who’s McLaggen?” 

“A pig—Oh, and Gryffindor’s Seeker. He’s absolute shit, Potter, he's got nothin’ on you.” 

"Really?" Harry's smile again faded at thoughts from the past, happy times when he was Gryffindor's Seeker, free to fly whenever he got the chance. 

There was a pregnant pause while Draco quietly contemplated on how to get Harry to fall madly in love with him. He looked thoughtfully at him and blinked, at last noticing a change from their previous visit. “Hey, you’re not wearing that eye stuff. Why not? I mean…not that you need it; you're gorgeous. I just…I thought…I don’t know…I thought maybe they made you wear that.” 

With another shake of his head, Harry uncouthly dropped it down into Draco’s awaiting lap, giving his groin a nudge with his nose. He smiled up at the attractive blond to let him know that he trusted him once more. “Nah, I normally don’t wear it, it makes my eyes water. Tom fancies it. He thinks it makes my eyes pop. I could wear it for you too, if you wanted. I mean—you know, if you were planning on returning.” 

 _Good God man, of course I’m coming back._ Regardless of the awkward tension radiating between them, the look Harry was giving Draco awoke the sleeping organ in his pants with a ravenous flow of blood. The only sticky part was finding out who this Tom person was without letting it get to him again. _Who the hell is this Tom character? He talks like this Tom is some sort of god…he doesn’t mean the Dark Lord’s-_ “Tom?” he said, trying not to sound bitter. 

“My master,” Harry replied, sighing. He fixed his eyes back on Draco, suddenly fantasising about him beating the ever-loving snot out of Tom...even going so far as to kill him, to snap his neck. And as lovely as that image was, he pushed the wicked thoughts from his head. “Oh, but we shouldn’t talk about him. This is about you.” 

Draco could not help but sneer. “Do you fancy this Tom bloke? I thought You-Know-Who owned you. Who the hell is Tom?” 

“Er,” Harry exhaled, looking slightly mortified at ruining the moment once more. “He’s uhh…he’s the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets in our second year. You remember that?” 

“The Heir of Slytherin,” Draco breathed. “He’s the boy that brought back You-Know-Who from the dead, right?” 

Harry nodded. 

"He's your master?" Draco asked, curious. He had only heard really bad things about that boy. "Is he nice?" 

"He tries to be," Harry replied. He let his legs drift apart, hoping Draco’s attention might be drawn elsewhere. He did not want to discuss Tom with Draco anymore. It felt- wrong to betray the trust Tom had given him, and the loss of feeling in his hands was becoming quite unbearable. He needed to speed this up and get off of his back soon. “That’s all I know. Anyway, isn’t there something else you want to ask me? Or maybe want to do to me?” 

Draco’s hand was close to his face. Harry leaned in, planting his lips on his wrist, lightly sucking the skin into his mouth. His voice was rapt with passion when he again spoke. “Don’t you want to sleep with me, Malfoy?” 

“Hell yes,” the blond blurted back, gaping down at the playful way Harry was tonguing around each of his fingers splayed over his kneecap. “Let’s get more comfortable, shall we?” He gave him a light push, rolling Harry over to untie his bound wrists. 

The instant the rope fell away, Harry pounced into Draco’s lap to cup his face. “I was waiting on that,” he gushed while their noses tapped together. “This’ll be better, don’t you think?” 

“Yeah, loads better,” Draco whispered, awed by Harry’s ability to brighten the mood. He felt his arms move up and encircle Harry’s waist, and his lips press against his heavenly mouth. The supple pliancy of their lips placed in such an innocent kiss sent a cool shiver down his spine. If only everything were this perfect and they were not surrounded by dried frog innards and the lingering stench of potion explosions splattered all over the room. 

“I have no idea why I dragged us down here,” Draco admitted, grimacing at the chosen spot. His body screamed to move, get off his knees and find a more decent place to tackle Harry and re-taste his saliva. 

Harry moulded into Draco’s lap, enthralled by this discovery of enjoying the feel of another’s mouth brushing with his. He nuzzled against the soft skin with a mew and parted his lips, licking Draco’s with the tip of his tongue. The arms encasing him tightened. He was pulled up, set of his feet, and thrust hard against the nearest wall. His wrists were pinned up over his head, and his jaw was forced open to take the blond’s returning tongue. 

Growing short on breath, Draco’s head lolled back for a bit of stagnant air. “I know a closer place than the tower,” he mumbled, pulling Harry away from the wall and re-wrapping him up in his embrace. Meeting their lips, scraping each other’s tongues, they slipped along the wall and fell out into the corridor. “It’s so close—my room. I wanna make love to you there, Potter.” He got so quiet and serious when he whispered those words into Harry’s ear. 

 _Make love?_  

In response, Harry swooned in his arms. No one had ever said they wanted to make love to him before. It sounded so campy and cliche, and it thrilled him to pieces. All of the other girls had admirers who came to call on them, bringing them flowers and sweets, and they made love all night in beds sprinkled with rose petals, surrounded by burning tea candles floating in the air. Harry never thought he would want something so…so romantic before, but hearing those words coming from Draco told him differently. They were going to make love, and nothing seemed more right at that moment. 

Harry nibbled on his bottom lip to slow the enormous smile trying its hardest to grow on his face, but it broke free and happened anyway. He clasped hands with Draco, the newest and most interesting person in the world that he was desperate to get to know better, to tug him through the corridor. “Come on then, let’s go make love.”

* * *

Draco stumbled through the gaping hole in the stone wall, appreciating the fact that he did not need a password to enter the Slytherin common room. Harry fit so nicely over his hips as he carried him in. He groped around with one hand thrust out in front of him, the other planted firmly on Harry’s bum, and worked his way blindly around the furniture toward the dormitories. 

He could not recall ever kissing someone for as long or as passionately as he kissed Harry, but found it impossible to break their contact enough to even see where they might be headed. 

“I think we’re—oh hell, Potter stop. Gods—you’re killing me here,” he said through heavy panting, reaching behind him to open the door against his back. Harry’s plush lips were now attached to his neck while he rocked up and down in steady rhythm over his groin. Draco was seriously close to having an orgasm again, but it was too soon. He'd already come once between there and Dungeon Five and they still had their uniforms on. “Stopstopstopstop…” 

The instant they staggered into the room, Draco could sense a distinct change in the atmosphere. The room was decked out quite differently than his back in Hogwarts, lit only by a single torch bracketed on the wall. The bed was far more ornate, fitted with forest-green satin sheets and fluffy pillows. They dropped onto it, sending the pillows shooting off over the sides. Their uniforms were stripped from their skin and hastily tossed off the bed. 

“I want to taste every inch of your sweet body, Potter. You look so bloody hot.” Draco licked the shell of Harry’s ear as he pinned him down beneath him. He hovered on top, basking in Harry's radiant visage. “Gonna sop you up and drink it all in, and take you’re perky arse in every position I can think of.” 

Harry gulped for much needed air. It was as if Draco had read his mind. First the kissing, now nibbling and sucking, while slowly taking his time to work his way along the length of Harry’s body…these were things Tom did not believe in. 

Malfoy had bent Harry’s leg and had his toes in his mouth, suckling on each digit as if they tasted of the sweetest candyfloss. He loved the curviness of his toes, hairless and manicured. Every part of Harry was worship-worthy. His long fingers danced up along the inner part of his thigh. Grey eyes locked onto green. A wicked grin and an arched eyebrow quickly followed. Draco’s tongue swept back and forth over his bottom lip. “You like that, babe?” 

Harry could only nod in reply, awed by the moist warmth enveloping his flesh. No one had ever sucked on his toes—or any other part of him without biting down soon after. This was amazing. 

Draco began to move, slowly running his tongue up the length of Harry’s incessantly long leg. 

A sudden jolt of pain pulsed from his scar, and Harry sat up with a start. “Ow, Malfoy, wait! Er, what are you doing?” he cried, cringing at the squeakiness in his voice. He was unsure of how to react to being this pampered, and an odd sensation of enjoying this far more than he should have had somehow frightened him, and possibly alerted Tom or the Dark Lord. _Gods, I need to relax._ Draco had been promised defiance, submission, but this…this was neither, and if the glory of making love got any better than this then Tom would certainly feel it. ”Don’t you want me to touch you now?” 

“Nope. Lie down,” Draco insisted, giving him a healthy shove backward. His tongue slipped back over his bottom lip and disappeared into the inviting navel claiming his attention. 

Harry propelled upward once more and gripped the hand planted on his hip. “I’m really not comfortable with this. Just let me—” 

“Will you please relax?” Draco snapped. He looked wounded and angry all at once. “What’s the matter with you?” 

“God, nothing,” Harry retorted, centring his shifty attitude on the prat crawling up the bed to meet him. “I just don’t feel right letting you do all the work. That’s what I do…Let me make you feel good. I’m well trained at it.” 

“What the hell are you trained for—sucking cock? Anyone can do that,” Draco hissed. He pushed a pillow across the bed, giving it a kick as it slid down toward his knee. Harry was a absolute git, sullying the good thing they had going with this unwavering need to take control. A sneer formed on his upper lip while he groped out, taking Harry’s ankle. “Would you rather I popped you in the eye?” 

Harry shrugged. It would make things a lot easier if he did, but it was definitely not something he wanted done to him. “You can do whatever you want, Malfoy. I didn’t mean to ruin the mood.” 

Draco pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes, and gave Harry’s ankle a threatening squeeze. “Yeah, I should just leave, get my money back. This was a huge mistake.” 

“No,” Harry breathed. He would be severely punished for this disgrace if Malfoy up and left and did not become a regular client as Bellatrix had dreamed. Why was he so riled when it came to this boy? He had slept with countless Death Eaters, all so evil it radiated off of them in a halo of hatred, without so much as a flinch. He had endured a solid week of Lord Voldemort’s vicious mental abuse after getting caught reading his mind, and inwardly wanting to die, but never once opened his mouth with a retort. He watched Hermione get groped and prodded with fat, greasy hands almost daily, and watched her stand there with an air of grace during each disgusting touch like she was the sodding Duchess of York. 

If she could do this so could he. It was only Malfoy for Merlin’s sake. Tom could be blocked from this. He could concentrate really hard to stop him from sensing any good feelings. “Please don’t go. I’m just nervous, that’s all.” 

Suspicious, Draco leaned in for a closer look at Harry’s face. “We’ve already had sex, why would this make you nervous?” 

“Alright, maybe it’s not so much that,” Harry admitted, but decided mentioning Tom might again trash the mood. With all of the strength he had, he forced Tom out of his mind. He knew if he put everything into using willpower he would be safe. “It’s that you’re trying to make me feel good. I’m not used to that, no body makes me feel good. Also, I still don’t trust you one bit. I feel guilty for enjoying this, and all the same I’m afraid you’re going to stop and laugh at me as soon as you know I like it…or something.” 

Dropping down beside him, Draco ruffled Harry’s hair. “We’re not twelve years old anymore, Potter. I didn’t come back here to laugh at you…I came back here for this,” he whispered, rutting his erection against Harry’s thigh. He took his hand in his, giving it a soft squeeze before coaxing it toward his lap. “Look what you do to me. If you didn’t get me all hot and bothered like this I would not be here wasting yours and my time trying to humiliate you. Give me a little credit please, I’m really not that awful a person.” 

“No, you’re not awful.” Harry grinned with relief. He curled his fingers around Draco’s iron-hard manhood with delicate fingers. “I can do more than get you hard, you know. I can do whatever you want me to.” 

Cupping Harry’s face, tipping it back, Draco pressed his lips to his throat. He moved slowly along the side of his neck, kissing his way up to his ear. His teeth continued their relentless nibbling, running down the line of Harry’s neck. A warm tongue dipped into the curve of his collarbone, and a hand cupped his hip. 

“I wanna kiss you all over, make beautiful love to you all night, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” He parted Harry’s knees with a hand and slipped between them. Their lips grazed. “I want you to tell me what you want. I want to hear you moaning with pleasure while we’re making love. And I want you to call me ‘Draco’. Can you do that?” 

“Sure, I can do that,” Harry said, nodding blindly. He leaned over the bed to grab his Quidditch robe and stuck his hand in one of the pockets. He pulled out three small containers and fingered over them, smiling. “What flavour do you like best, Malfoy, candied cherries? You look like a cherry-lover to me.” 

Draco shook his head firmly at being called by his surname. “Draco, remember?” He eyed the clear jars Harry was toying with. “Cherry’s okay, what else you got?” 

“Got some banana butter somewhere…hmm, er...I did, must have dropped it. Umm, tangerine liquorice and vanilla cream here, which happens to be my personal favourite,” he replied, flirting with him again. Dipping his fingers into the glossy mixture, he spread it over his lips. Slowly, he nuzzled into Draco’s neck, trailing the gloss up to his mouth and pressed them together. Their tongues tapped, tasting the warmed substance lingering between them. 

Draco moaned deeply in his throat as he closed the distance. 

Harry wiggled around to mould properly into his form. “So, which do you prefer?” 

“I can see why you fancy this one so much.” Draco took a swipe across the lip of the light-coloured gloss and spread it around on his fingers. He grinned and Harry gasped, shocked from their slick intrusion slipping and sliding around between the cheeks of his bum. Another chaste kiss later, Draco had Harry’s legs wrapped around his waist. “Mind if I call you ‘Harry’ while I’m shagging you?” 

“Making love,” Harry pointedly corrected him. He was not going to miss out on this phenomenal opportunity for another cheap shag. He began to tremble from keeping his mind so tightly closed and hoped he could hold out as long as Draco could. “But, yeah, I'd love it if you called me 'Harry'.” 

The thinly-chained silver anklet rang softly in Draco’s ear. He loved watching it dangle from Harry’s ankle. Tipping his hips, rolling them to conform, he slowly penetrated him with as much grace as he could muster. “Is that all right? I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, feeling the boy under him wriggling around to find a bit of relief. "I want you to feel good. I want you to love this." 

Within seconds, Draco knew the vanilla cream was magic-based. Everything felt just right. Each sensation tingled and jarred his worried senses. He was on the threshold of coming, but knew that he would not. It was as if he were prolonging the perfect orgasm for as long as he wanted, and had no intention of giving in any time soon. “What is this stuff? It’s fantastic.” 

Harry pressed his toes into the bedding and pulled his hips to meet with Draco’s stringent thrusts. His body shook from the heightened pleasure. He remained graceful, arching like a yawning kitten while he mumbled through the wispiest mewing Draco had ever heard before. “Mmm, knew you’d love it. It’s so good…you’re so good, so good at this…I love this, Draco, oh, I love this so much.” 

A powerful wave of ecstasy erupted from within. Perhaps the gloss was less effective than Draco had originally thought. “Oh no,” he groaned and stopped all motion. “It stopped working—gonna come.” 

“Relax, Draco, please,” Harry whispered, taking his hand into his. He laced their fingers together. “Look at me. Stop getting so worked up, just let it happen. We can do it again in a few minutes if you want.” 

Harry’s hair fell back into his eyes. He trembled beneath him, against his skin, so fragile and delicately. Nothing was as pretty or felt as perfect. Draco squeezed his hand and thrust, unable to withstand another second of torment. “Say it again, Harry,” he begged, “Tell me how much you love this.” 

Hardly able to catch his breath, Harry inhaled deeply and forced the words past his lips. “I love this so much, Draco, oh fucking hell I love this.” 

“Oh gods,” Draco moaned, feeling his body relent to the euphoric pulses claiming him. He stiffened up, his body shuddered, and he came with a hum that seemed to go on forever. 

Harry kissed him, and reached up to move the silvery-white strands of hair plastered on his cheek. “You can rest for a while or drink an Invigoration Potion to recharge. It’s up to you.” 

Draco fell in a heap next to him and closed his eyes. He pulled Harry into his arms with the thought of never letting go. “No, need to make you feel good first and then we’ll rest.” 

“Shh,” Harry whispered, stroking his hair. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up soon with something to eat.” 

“M’kay, love.” 

Unable to hold out any longer, Harry fell slack into the bed from exhaustion for hiding this experience of sheer happiness from Tom and Voldemort. He drifted off into a deep slumber in the embrace of the handsome blond, with the word ‘love’, a word they had used loads of times that night, etched into the forefront in his mind.


	3. Things Change, Harry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Voldemort declares that all Pure-Bloods must procreate with Half-Bloods so he can grow an army of perfect soldiers. Harry and Draco find themselves growing closer as their world begins to crumble around them. Frightened they'll be ripped apart, and seeing the abuse Harry endures from Tom, Draco commits to a life as a Death Eater in order to sway the Dark Lord's plans for his younger self's and his catamite's future. He'll stop at nothing, and a Malfoy always gets what he wants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for domestic violence here. The end of the chapter has a one-sided assault, nothing too graphic, but I am putting this up for people who may be sensitive to that.

Sitting in the parlour, with his feet propped up on the chair beside him, Tom looked over the three gentlemen callers who had come to visit The White Wyvern. It was obvious none of them knew who this man was, or all three of them would have run screaming. He rapped the tips of his fingers on his knee as he watched them squirm with discomfort, waiting for anything to happen.

“Something on your mind, lad?” the oldest one asked him, fed up with being judged by this smartly-dressed ruffian. He looked him over more carefully as Tom spread his disgust evenly between all three men. Tom’s boots were filthy; coated with a thick, chunky fluid dripping onto the embroidered seat they hung suspended over that looked like…like blood. “Do you have a problem with me?”

Tom’s lips curled up, and he shrugged. “Well, that depends.”

“Depends on what?”

Tom’s eyebrow arched up through a half-smirk while his dark eyes blazed forth to life through hot blood pulsating within the flecks. “On who’ve you come to visit, of course.”

He had grown tired of sharing the gift he was given for the act of heroism performed within the Chamber of Secrets and resurrecting of his older self. His catamite had been blocking him out of his head from time to time, in the evenings when someone else was taking liberties with his slave status. And Tom would have rather died than ask the foul lady of the house who she was allowing to shag Harry; he hated that tarted-up bitch more than any of the Mudblood slaves she was put in charge of. And, of course, she was a very good liar…perhaps the best he’d ever encountered. “Who are you paying that arse-kissing slag to violate here, you slovenly freak? I want a name.”

The man’s cheeks burned pink. “Well…the Pure-Blood, of course…the Weasley girl; G-Ginny.”

“Ugh, Ginny?” Tom repeated through a rising sneer of disgust. “The spectre? Why in Mordred’s name would anyone want to sleep with her?”

“She’s pretty,” the man explained, shrugging.

Tom snorted with laughter. Ginny had changed a lot since their first meeting through the diary. A lot. “Yeah, pretty repulsive. All the whores inside are pretty to look at. Yet you pick the Weasley girl; the one who doesn’t have a soul. You do realise that she’s half-dead, don’t you? Let me put it to you this way; you come here and pay good money to sleep with a freshly preserved corpse, one that still happens to breathe.” Tom’s eyes shifted from the Pure-Blood nobody to the other two gentlemen. “That’s fucking nasty if you ask me. Next.”

The two young men sitting beside the other grew more cautious of this person asking them their business. One stood up to leave, but Tom flicked his wand and forced him to sit back down. “We’re not through yet.”

The parlour grew cold and silent. Tom tucked a thick strand of wavy hair behind his ear while he watched the visitors shiver under his thumb. Frost began to settle on their shoulders, only to be melted by the evil man’s burning glare. “So let’s just cut to the chase: which one of you two desperate losers is here to visit with a boy?”

One of the men quickly shook his head ‘no’, the other gaped back at the man with guilt. Tom released his hold on the other, flickering his wand to end the spell while he focused on the youngest of the three, the one who was shaking like a leaf under his gaze.

Bellatrix poked her head through the doorway that appeared on the inner part of the room and waved at the two men not being mentally scrutinised by the Dark Lord’s memory, mouthing “get in here!” to them before Tom decided torturing one person would not be enough to sate his wicked fancy. The door diminished and vanished with a slight **_*pop*_** , going unnoticed by the image of the past’s Lord Voldemort.

“You don’t even know who I am, do you?” Tom asked the only young man left sitting in the parlour, as a smirk of superiority curled up on his lips.

Cedric Diggory opened his mouth but froze as Tom rose up out of his seat and crossed the room to stand over him.

“So tell me, Champion, who are you here to see tonight?”

“Justin…” Cedric whimpered. He could feel his blood crystallise into slush in his veins. He shivered without any control, watching Tom bend forward to look him in the eye.

“Say it again, please. Who have you paid to fuck?”

“Justin Finch-Fletchley.”

“The Mudblood.” Tom crouched down a bit more, knee on the floor, so he was eye-level with the handsome young Triwizard Tournament Champion. “You ever visit with anyone else here?”

Cedric panicked, thinking someone had finally figured out that time he got past Alecto and got a free shagging. “If this is about skirting past the reception desk some time back, it wasn’t my fault! It was so busy, I got shuffled past that bloody cow before she could check me in! If you want money I-”

Tom silenced him by placing a forefinger on his lips. “ _Shh_ , relax, Champion. Just tell me you’ve never slept with Potter and I’ll let you walk out of here with all of your bones unbroken.”

“Harry Potter?” he said, as if he did not know the boy was being held under this roof. Cedric blinked a few times, unsure whether he had slept with the boy or not. He was pretty sure that he had, though. It may have even been that night he sneaked past the reception desk. He gripped his wand under his robes, ready to fight this bloke if need be. “I don’t recall.”

“That’s not what your eyes say, Champion. They betray you,” Tom said through a laugh. He wagged a finger at the young man as he rose up, back on his feet. “You don’t even believe it yourself. Now…” He grabbed Cedric by the collar and yanked him up out of his chair. He jerked his head at the front door. “You ever touch my boy again - I’ll nail your severed dick to that fucking door over there like a useless snake. Got it?”

“Like a…what? — Uh, yeah, sure, I’ll never touch him again,” Cedric babbled, staring intently at the throbbing specks of blood in the man’s narrowed eyes. It was more than obvious now who this man was, and he knew he’d be dead before he could utter a scream if he showed Tom Riddle any sort of defiance. Despite there being laws set firmly in place to protect wealthy, favoured, better-blooded wizards, Tom did not have to follow a single one of them. It didn’t matter whether or not the victim was a Pure-Blood wizard, a Champion of Hogwarts or anything else, other than a Death Eater, to him. Tom Riddle only listened to one other wizard on Earth: himself, his older self.

“Good.” Tom set the young man back on the floor. He straightened his collar and smacked his cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Let anyone who knows about him being here that he’s off limits now. They touch him - they die.”

“Absolutely,” Cedric replied, and scrambled for the reopened magical entrance the moment Bellatrix peeked out of it.

“Keep it open, skank,” Tom called out. He grabbed his velvet cloak and entered the bordello, intent on getting some real answers out of some of the useless whores who resided there.

* * *

  **30 July, 1998**

And so it began to wane, the jitters Harry experienced when he thought about Malfoy coming to visit, or what Tom would do to both of them if he found out. Now, his anticipation for Draco’s arrival made him quiver in a very good way. He could not wait idly in his chambers for him to show up that day, and found himself perched on the reception desk while he waited.

Harry no longer cared whether the odd Hogwarts alumni saw him there anymore while he waited, they could not tell any outsider of his spotting anyway. Every potential client signs a binding contract forbidding speaking a word of the goings on inside. Only Cedric Diggory, it seemed, had gotten past the desk without being screened for disease or signing a contract, and for that mistake alone he had sealed Harry’s and Draco’s fate.

The catamite watched Teddy Nott and Blaise Zabini peek in on him from the parlour, and then whisper about him in each other’s ear. He didn’t even bother to give them a dirty look this time, he was far too happy to waste any energy on them.

The parlour was filled to the brim with patrons, it always was during the summer. More than once a man would stroll up and ask Alecto if they could choose him, without even knowing who he was, but they were all denied. Harry’s Tuesdays were always reserved for Draco Malfoy and no one else, not even Tom anymore, but he did not know why.

Harry had grown so fond of the former Slytherin that he daydreamed about him all day every day, and pretended that it was Malfoy in the evenings, whenever he had to let a client shag him. Draco Bloody Malfoy was the only thing Harry could think about anymore. It was exciting, imagining what new emotion the young man would bring out in him, as they seemed endless. It was like arriving at Hogwarts on his first day of school all over again. His dreary life had meaning once more. Draco bloody Malfoy made his life whole.

That awful fever Harry had acquired at the start of summer remained, but was kept in check by Snape. Harry did not have a Muggle STD as the man first thought; this illness was something entirely different, a mystery yet to unfold. It wasn’t a problem, yet. No one seemed to worry on it as long as Harry could still perform and make them money.

Tom either had not noticed that his catamite was ailing, or didn’t care, but Snape firmly believed at least one of those options were one-hundred percent true. And despite his once loathe for the boy, Snape now worried that when he was given Hermione’s contract and when the time came to remove her from the bordello, that Harry would succumb and die without her being there, without Harry having someone there who truly cared about him.

Fleur climbed up onto the desk and sat down beside Harry. He was a beautiful mystery to her. She had never been able to attract the boy with her innate charms, Harry was seemingly immune to her. “Waiting for Malfoy?” she asked him as she hugged up against his side to slip an arm around his shoulders.

“He should be here any minute now,” Harry replied through a grin.

“You ‘ave any plans for zis evening?” the part-Veela asked him while she stroked his hair and plucked a loose eyelash from his cheek. “Eet ez almost your birthday, after all.”

“Oh, yes,” Harry replied, smiling. “We’ll be spending a perfect night together in my chambers. You know the drill; the bath, the rose petals, loads of champagne, petting, tongue-kissing, fantastic sex,” he listed off in a dreamy haze. “And tomorrow all day and night. Happy birthday indeed.”

“You deserve ‘im, ‘arry,” she replied, and kissed the top of his head. “I am zo glad ‘e is good to you.”

Both looked up, hearing Fleur’s name being called out in the parlour. She seized up with happiness as her main suitor, Sirius Black, dove into the reception area and swept her up into his arms.

He was a Death Eater whom Harry had been told had betrayed his parents, allowing the Dark Lord to bypass their wards to murder them, and to try to murder him.

The tall man paused at the desk, giving Harry a grin. He was ruggedly handsome, but clearly had been put through the ringer during his ten year stint in Azkaban Fortress, just as his mistress, Bellatrix, had. The only difference between them was that Bella’s once good looks had been restored. “How you doing, kiddo?” 

Harry flinched back when Black reached to ruffle his hair. “Don’t touch me,” he heard himself whisper. He curled up into himself and lowered his head, immediately ashamed that he let Black see him that way. He wanted to be strong, look brave in front of him. He wanted to give him a sense of how he truly felt about him, to let him know that one day he would escape this servitude and kill him.

Sirius let his hand drop back in place as he lowered his eyes. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to startle you.”

Harry was happy for Fleur, even for her obsession for this crazed villain, but he could never shake the heart-wrenching agony of knowing what this man had done. Ultimately, it had set the course of action that had doomed their world. He felt tears well up in his eyes. He refused to uncurl himself from the foetal ball he had made on top of the desk, but whispered, “Just go away.”

“Well,” Sirius said, feeling a lot less cheerful. “I’ll leave you to it. Evening, Harry.”

It hurt seeing that Harry was still frightened of him, and knowing he may never be able to confess the truth. Sighing, he hugged Fleur against him and carried her off toward her chambers like his bride.

Harry sighed.

_“I’m sorry, love, I got delayed.”_

Harry looked up, into Draco’s pretty grey eyes and his smile returned. “There you are!” Eagerly, he wrapped his arms around his neck, his legs around his waist and pulled his sweet Draco in for a kiss.

Both tipped back for air. “I can’t wait to get you in bed and spoil the hell out of you over the next two days.” Draco slid the boy off the desk, and carried him to Harry’s room.

* * *

It was not enough; coming to visit Harry on Tuesdays. It was never enough. Draco wanted to spend every waking minute alone with this boy, or not alone, something, anything, there was just never enough time. Newly graduated from Hogwarts, the world was his oyster. He was wealthy beyond measure, with a family name that spoke volumes. Everything on Earth was at his fingertips - everything except Harry.

“I’m not supposed to be telling you this, but fuck it,” he said through a sulk, before kissing Harry full on his lips again. “I’m being forced to get married so I can breed.” He had him beneath him, flat on his back on the bed. “It’s a thing now, a new law the Dark Lord put into effect last weekend. Pure-Bloods are being matched up with Half-Bloods in order to procreate…make loads of better-blooded witches and wizards to serve as an army for him.”

“That sounds terrible,” Harry whispered as he took strands of white hair into his hands.

“It’s archaic, completely unnecessary if you ask me.” Everything about the wizarding world in Great Britain seemed to be moving backward. “Things should stay natural. No one should be forced to do something they don’t want to do.”

And he worried about that a lot more than he wanted to elaborate yet. There were plans for Harry, for his near future that did not involve him being a whore any longer. And that should have been a good thing, even if Draco were to never see him again; but it was not.

Harry looked pained. “Will you still be able to visit me?”

Draco ignored the question. Instead, he took the boy by the chin and looked into his eyes. “How would you feel about that? What if they did that to you? What if you had to breed with someone in order to carry on your blood-line?”

“That would never happen. My mother was Muggle-born,” Harry replied, shaking his head.

Draco flattened a hand up under Harry’s spine, aiding him in arching his back. “Yeah, but your father was a Pure-Blood. Half-bloods are acceptable breeders now in his eyes; the Dark Lord’s.”

“He’s Half-Blooded, that’s why,” Harry informed him through a moan as Draco claimed him. He looked up into his eyes with a sad smile. He reached up, cupping his cheek. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“That figures…Half-Bloods are still looked down upon, but if they were to be disavowed our kind would die out, so says the government.” Resentment shone through Draco’s eyes as he tried to prepare Harry for his fate. He dropped down, putting his lips on his throat. “I need to tell you this; rumour has it the Dark Lord plans to sell you off soon.”

Harry’s blood instantly cooled. He went stiff beneath his lover, with eyes welling with worry. “Me?”

Draco shifted his weight over him to keep him flat, fearing he might try and run off. “Yeah, you.”

“I thought he planned to stop my ageing so I could be a courtesan forever.” That’s what he had been told by Bellatrix, anyhow. “Who am I going to be sold to?”

Draco frowned and glanced off, feeling somewhat ashamed for being involved in this horrible mess. “Don’t you worry about that. I’ve been working out something big, a massive project, something I’m not proud of but in the end it’ll be well worth it. My mother is calling in all of her favours, and she’s got a lot of clout. And I’ve got my father as backup if it isn’t enough.”

These plans to sell off Harry sounded barbaric to Draco, at best. He would not stand for this.

The Dark Lord was completely insane. Everyone knew it, but there was nothing anyone could do to remove him from his position of dictatorship. Pure and Half-Bloods were being paired off to procreate, so the Dark Lord could raise an army of the most refined wizards their world would ever encounter. He would conquer and soon rule the world. And as terrible as that sounded in and of itself, the plans to change their kind went beyond that of merely breeding.

Draco’s father had heard rumours about the captured slaves scattered all over Britain: unclaimed and useless Mudbloods were being slaughtered, and Half-Bloods were being ‘adjusted’, to fill in what was needed, then forced into breeding until they could no longer produce. Once they had created all the life they could, they would either be put back into servitude or disposed of like the Mudbloods, depending on their importance or their owners’ desire to retain their services.

“But who, Draco?” Harry begged him, with tears in his eyes and strands of white hair trapped in his hands. “Please tell me before I die from heartbreak.”

Harry was going to be given to Tom, that was the plan. And since Tom was a male, Harry’s sex would be permanently altered against his will so he could provide their world with children that carried Salazar Slytherin’s blood. It was said that Tom demanded Harry, that he be altered and removed from the brothel and put back inside the Riddle House.

And that probably would have happened if not for Draco. Fortunately, the young man’s family had a very high standing in society, mainly due to his father stashing some diary in the right place at the right time. Whatever that meant, Draco planned on using that privilege to change Harry’s future.

“Don’t worry about who. I have to tell you something, I have to confess,” Draco whispered.

Harry’s eyes closed as his head lolled back against the silk pillows. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, to disappear in the baby-fine hairs feathering his temples. “Could it be any worse than knowing we might never see each other again?”

“I’m going to become a Death Eater,” Draco admitted.

“Why?” Harry cried in horror. His eyes grew large, his mouth fell open in shock. “What happened to your plans to play professional Quidditch?”

“And when I say ‘going to become a Death Eater’,” Draco added. Still wearing his shirt for fear of upsetting Harry before he told him, he rolled his sleeve up to show the boy the fresh Dark Mark burned into his flesh, “I mean to say I have become one. I’m a Death Eater, Harry.”

Harry’s blood froze up solid in his veins. “No!” He fought to break out of his grasp, to run away, to wake up from this nightmare. “Let me go!”

“I’m not letting you go!” Draco clutched onto him, refusing his demand. “Just stop, Harry, stop. It’s okay,” he whispered with confidence, despite pinning Harry down on the bed and using his larger size to keep him down. He petted his hair through the sobbing, and only relaxed his muscles when Harry relented and went limp in his arms.

Falling farther and farther into despair, Harry hardly felt Draco pin his wrists together at his chest so he could kiss away his tears without being slapped across the face again. The Dark Lord would always be there taking away anything he loved. “But I wanted you to have a long, happy life. Why would you let him mark you?”

“Because I want to have a long and happy life…but only if I can spend it with you, that’s why. I want to be with you.” Before Harry could ask what he meant, Draco kissed him hard on the mouth, silencing his need to understand.

If he could help it, he would never let that prick Tom win and claim Harry.

The monster.

Draco had caught sight of faded gashes and bruises littered all over his lover’s skin on more than one occasion when he came to visit. He knew what magically healed scars looked like now, after obtaining many of his own recently. He knew Tom abused him, that to Tom Harry was just an object, a living possession of his to do with as he pleased. He knew this because he worked with Tom a lot now, and the man loved to boast about all of the horrible things he did to his pretty little catamite whenever he visited the brothel.

But that wouldn't be the plan anymore, not once this deal Draco was working hard to make happen with the Dark Lord got sealed. It would take time, but he was sure it would happen. Tom would no longer have claim over Harry, and neither would the bordello. "Everything is going to get a whole lot better, Harry, please trust me. I mean it." He sat up a bit, wiping the tears away from Harry's face, and looked into his eyes. "I wouldn't lie to you. I'm going to protect you…I love you," he breathed over Harry's lips before kissing him again.

Harry’s breath caught, seeing the truth resonate through Draco’s eyes. “You love me?” he whispered, almost to himself.

“Yes, you idiot, I love you,” Draco replied, smiling. He placed his lips on the other boy’s chin, basking in the heavenly feel of being alone with the one person in the world he truly loved. “I love you so much it hurts.”

“I love you, too,” Harry said back to him. And he did, he loved Draco with all of his heart. “I do, I do, I do...” he whispered, and kissed his lips between each ‘I do’.

“I know you do. I’m going to make you so happy.”

"You already have," Harry said.

Draco looked around the ornate chamber. The idea of Tom or another client touching his true love anymore caused bile to crawl up the length of his oesophagus to burn his throat. Not if he could help it. “We’re just working out loads of details: there's question of the legality of some sealed documents, and we're sorting through an attic full of banned artifacts that I can liquidate in a hurry. Boring stuff really, I’ve got my lawyers doing all the dirty work for me. I wish I could tell you more, but right now I want to make you feel good. I wanna spoil you rotten.” He traced Harry’s plush lips with the pad of his thumb. “Come’ere you.”

Harry was trembling with hope for a future with him. Whatever Malfoy had planned sounded very exciting. Love swelled so strong inside him, and it radiated from his skin white-hot.

Draco Malfoy loved him, and they would live happily ever after.

* * *

 _“~Wake up…~_ ”

A crackle of magic in the air roused Harry from his sleep. He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

_“~...you treacherous whore.~”_

The disembodied voice echoed all around him. He looked down, finding Draco fast asleep at his side. He was sure not much time had passed once they fell asleep in each other’s arms, but something was not right, something terrible was lingering in the darkness. Hypersensitive, Harry pressed his lips to his lover’s ear, terrified to speak louder than a whisper. “Draco, wake up.

The transforming magical signature of a door appearing and opening pulsed like fireworks through the room.

Bellatrix stuck her head inside, looking grim. “Harry dear, Draco has to leave now, I’m afraid. Mr Riddle has arrived, and well,” she began, and cleared her throat as she looked away to hide her worry before continuing. “He’s not happy. Draco can visit another time if it’s allowed, alright?”

“Yeah, of course, Mistress Bella,” Harry said quietly. His heart began to race. Tom must have sensed that he was happy. He should have tried to keep him out of his mind when Draco told him he loved him, but through the elation - he forgot. “Is he fit to be tied?”

“Try not to provoke him, love. Now, go on with you, get in the bath to clean up and look pretty for him. I’ll take care of Draco.” She held out a hand to help Harry out of the bed, and looked him over for any marks, knowing there'd be none, but that would change soon enough.

“Did anything untoward happen between Draco and you?” she asked, curious as to why Tom had barged into the bordello, aiming curses at any unfortunate individual who got in his way, demanding whoever had paid to sleep with Harry that night was doing something disallowed, and needed to leave before he killed him.

“No, Mistress, he’s always a gentleman,” Harry implored, shaking his head. The blood had drained from his face, and his hands shook with anxiety, but he wrapped himself up in a sheet and walked out of the room like the good little courtesan that he was. Bellatrix sighed with dejection as she watched him disappear, knowing now the boy was to be severely punished for merely having a bit of fun.

* * *

Groomed, perfumed, and dressed in his collar and a pair of velvet shorts, Harry sat on his knees with his hands planted on his thighs in wait for his master. He panted through his mouth with worry, and flinched at the strong current of magic that pulsed around him. He had been amply warned of Tom’s reckless behaviour out in the parlour, now he found himself steeling his demeanour in order to survive this visit without giving away the name of the one person left in the world who cared about him.

His fever had started raging, sapping most of his strength. And he knew he was in for a long horrible night, and there was nothing he could do to get out of it. The only way the Dark Lord would intervene was if Tom came close to killing him…again.

The door to his chambers appeared, filling the room with ominous light. Harry winced, and then took an enormous breath, preparing for the onslaught.

Tom stepped into the room and dropped his cloak on the floor, looking indeed fit to be tied. His legs were encased in tight black vinyl, and the flowing silk shirt he wore hung open unbuttoned, exposing his hairless chest. His mane of wavy hair framed his silhouette of evil; like a dark prince approaching through the dimmed lighting. He ran his fingers through his hair, scowling as he centred his vision on Harry. “Been having a good time whoring for your whore-queen lately, haven’t you, pretty boy?”

With sarcasm duly noted, Harry felt he wasn’t going to make it through the evening alive. He could hardly take a breath large enough to sate his need for more oxygen. His throat seemed to close up as he opened his mouth to speak. _Don’t lie, not yet._ “It’s gotten better,” he squeaked back as tears pooled in his eyes. He saw the nasty look that Tom was giving him, and that only meant one thing; he was going to bleed…a lot.

Moving past him, Tom pointed down at his boot. “On your knees at my feet like the dog that you are.” He watched the boy prostrate himself for him without a word while he took to his throne. He sat back while he pondered this outrage, this treason his boy had committed against him.

Harry could plainly see copious amounts of coagulated blood caked around the soles of his master’s boots, as if he had been wading through a pool of it earlier in the evening.

Tom sensed his shock and horror from his erratic thoughts pinging back to him through their minds, and simmered. “I might make you lick them clean after I’m through interrogating you if I don’t get the answers I want, tart.” He thumped Harry on the back of the head, causing the boy’s face to smack against the tiled floor.

“Sit up straight and look at me when I talk to you. Who is he?” he enquired, dying to understand what had made Harry feel such happiness, so much so that it bled into his mind like taking a strong whiff of Amortentia. He reeled back and hit the boy across the face as hard as he could, knocking him to the floor. “I asked you a question, whore.”

This answer he wanted was important. For you see, Tom was the most wicked young man the wizarding world knew, a boy whom the Dark Lord himself used as his muscle when someone did not immediately comply with his wishes. Tom typically used illegal magic to punish his victims, but he preferred getting physical with Harry. Nothing drove the fear of God into Harry faster than a swift approach with a raised hand.

He kicked out and jolted the boy at his temple. “Get up, back on your knees. Don’t make me place you there myself.”

 _Not yet. Wait for it._ “Yes, sir.” Harry looked very vulnerable as he struggled to sit up. He was always so submissive and fuckable when required. Tom noted that he had broken his pretty catamite’s nose, seeing blood seep out of his nostrils to paint his lips a sickening shade of crimson. Still, the boy sat back down beside him as if nothing had happened.

“Is this obedience - or defiance? Let’s find out, shall we?” Tom’s own lip twitched as he leaned to the side to watch him quiver. He pulled his hand back again, prepared to strike Harry much harder to knock some sense into him. Instead, he grabbed him by the throat, yanking him closer. His eyes were glowing a horrid shade of red, matching the blood smeared all over Harry’s terror-stricken face. He pressed his thumbs against his windpipe and squeezed.

“What was the name of this man who made you so unbelievably happy that you felt the need to block me out? And keep your bloody hands behind your back!”

Harry struggled as little as possible to breathe.

 _Almost…let him get more riled. Let the frenzy build up a little bit more_.

Tom wanted to see how long it took Harry to fight to stay alive, wondering whether his fear of disobeying was stronger than his self preservation. “Confess, you come-guzzling slut, and I won’t hurt you any more than I have to tonight.” And before Harry could respond, he added, “And I’ll consider not murdering that filthy little Mudblood you call your friend.”

He pulled Harry closer, so close their noses touched. “You do know that the only reason I haven’t killed her yet is because of you, dear.” He pulled his hands away and let Harry fall to cough and catch his breath.

"Tell me who it was!"

 _Now._ “Crouch,” declared Harry, through a fit of wheezing from the floor.

Tom was taken aback. “Barty?”

“Yes, sir, Barty,” Harry replied, lying to the man while he looked up at him to meet his eye.

Detecting sincerity, Tom sat back in his throne. “Really...I thought he fucked you all the time?”

“Every week, sir,” Harry replied.

Tom slid out of his chair and dropped down on his knees in front of Harry, looking confused. He cupped the boy’s bloodied face in his hands. “Then why did you block me out?”

 _Think of Draco, just don’t say his name._ “I didn’t mean to, it just happened when he made me feel good,” Harry told him. “I asked him to stop touching me…” His eyes drifted downward, stopping on his velvet shorts. “But it only seemed to excite him more, so I blocked out what he was doing to me.”

Learning how to lie had been a godsend. Draco’s life would be spared another day. Besides, Crouch was a Death Eater, and Death Eaters got protections that normal wizards don’t receive. Lord Voldemort would not let Tom murder one of his own, not without a damned good reason. And it would be Barty Jr’s word against his if Tom interrogated him. Even if Tom believed the Death Eater, Harry would keep his secret tonight, and he was very used to taking the brunt of Tom’s anger. At least Malfoy would remain safe…for now.

Harry curled around his master the instant he was released, hugging him, hoping he would be forgiven without too much punishment. He was so exhausted, shaking like a leaf. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Tom could be very kind when he wanted to, maybe he would spare the boy more pain tonight if Harry did exactly what he told him to.

“Oh, you didn’t mean to enjoy sex with someone who paid to humiliate you?” But that was not in the cards. Tom sloughed him off. “Didn’t enjoy his company more than mine?”

 _Think of Yaxley now._ “No, of course not,” Harry replied.

“Keep your fucking hands behind your back, with your fingers laced together. Don’t try and get affectionate with me while I’m punishing you.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry reverted back to his submissive posture and grabbed his wrist behind his back as he watched Tom drop back into the throne. He would thank Bellatrix later.

It was a blessing that she hated Tom as much as she loved her nephew, and taught her favourite slave everything she knew about lying convincingly over the past month, knowing this point in time was coming. She could see how happy Harry had become, how alive her nephew, Draco, was when he was with Harry. She could see that they were falling in love.

Tonight, Harry might have to deal with Tom’s fury, but tomorrow was his birthday. He was turning eighteen years old and Malfoy had already paid a fortune to spend the whole day and night alone with him. And that’s all he wanted; to spend the night alone with someone he was growing to care deeply for, to have one perfect night together with Draco before Tom figured it all out and cut the son-of-a-Death Eater off from ever returning.

Tom froze. “Wait a tick…”

“What?” Harry asked, seeing Tom’s expression shift from anger to more akin to confusion.

“You just thought about spending your birthday with…not Crouch…not me.”

 _Oh, no._ Harry's eyes grew to the size of saucers. He squeezed them shut as they welled up with hot, fat tears, seeing his master realise that not only had his catamite lied to him, but was in love with someone else.

“So, you’re smitten with Draco Malfoy, huh?” Tom shucked off his poet shirt. As nasty as he wanted to be to the boy, it upset him knowing that someone other than himself had made Harry feel good, had made him happy. And that someone was not some old Death Eater, it was his new partner.

He thought long and hard as he made Harry wait on his knees for more punishment, struggling to recall a single instance that he had made Harry feel the way Draco had earlier that night. And when he couldn’t, he threw up a wall of defence, refusing to let Harry see how wounded he suddenly felt. “That Malfoy sonuvabitch, hmm? He’s got a pointy rat face if you ask me.”

Which wasn’t actually true. Now Tom became even more painfully jealous of the fact the person who had made Harry so bloody happy was also really attractive, young, and filthy-fucking rich. “Is he the one who taught you to lie to me? Or was it Bellatrix?”

Harry stayed silent and cleared his mind. He couldn’t give Tom any more fodder. He was probably going to die at this point as it was, and then Tom would kill Draco. But he would give him nothing else. He would never know how amazing Draco Malfoy was to him.

“I see they got him out of here in a hurry. That nasty bitch must have Side-Along Apparated him out before I got my hands on him. Fortunate that she did.” Tom scowled at the ill-will constriction on his heart. Nothing had ever made him feel so envious before, not even being in the shadow of his older self.

He slapped Harry again, and watched the boy fall at his feet. He moved to free himself from his leggings.“Get up here and suck me off, you useless cunt,” he ordered, giving the boy’s shoulder a nudge with his boot. He glared down at him lividly. “Get up. Get up. Get up.”

“Okay, Tom, I'm trying.” Harry got up to kneel in front of the handsome man and hugged his hips to nuzzle against his groin. Fresh blood seeped down over his lips, bloodying his teeth.

Grabbing a handful of hair, Tom growled as he jerked Harry’s head back as far as he could bend it behind him. “I didn’t say you could use your hands yet. Merlin’s beard, Harry, why can’t you remember one simple thing?! Put them behind your back and keep them there before I kill you.”

Harry gasped and deftly grabbed his wrist behind his back. “I’m so sorry, sir, I forgot.”

Tom did not hear him. His mind was fixated on the elation that had poured into him earlier from the depths of Harry’s soul – a wondrous emotion that was expelled from him by some other man. Someone else had made his boy happy, far happier than he ever had. So caught up in the details, he didn’t know he had wrapped his hands around Harry’s throat again.

It wasn’t until Harry collapsed, and a pang of hateful vengeance nearly split his head open, did Tom realise that Lord Voldemort was going to pop into that room at any moment and most likely murder him for doing too much damage to his trophy…again. He gasped at his own actions, at the sight of his Catamite lying motionless at his feet.

Fretting, he yanked the boy up into his lap by an arm and slapped his cheek repeatedly until he came to. He pushed Harry off his lap and sat back, wallowing in self pity. _“~I know you have better things on your mind, but do try and stay awake while I’m talking to you.~”_

Harry wheezed and coughed, further injuring his now bruised throat. He got back on his knees and put his hands behind him. _“~I’m sorry for passing out, Tom. I’ll try harder next time.~”_

 _“~I knew this would happen sooner or later.~_ ” Tom mumbled, his mind a blur of emotions attacking his wellbeing. He pointed an accusing finger at Harry and bared his teeth. “ _~I should have listened to him. Voldemort warned me—he told me you’d turn against me. I should have let him slaughter you like the weak little whore that you are.~”_

“ _~Perhaps you should have, Tom,~”_ Harry replied through sadness. He closed his eyes, wishing it were true. Sometimes, in times like these, Harry thought he might have been better off if Tom would have let the basilisk kill him, and finish Ginny off, so neither of them would have to endure a life of servitude at the hands of the most evil wizard in the world - times two. “ _~To be honest, I really wish you would have let me die.~”_

Tom frowned. A new sort of pain began to squeeze his heart as hard as he had squeezed Harry’s throat. The intrusion nearly doubled him over. _“~Don’t say that.~”_

Harry’s words cut deep. Tom’s taunting slurs had backfired. Now, it seemed, Harry didn’t even want to live to serve him anymore. _He’d rather be dead than be with me.”~How does Malfoy make you feel so happy?~”_

 _“~The way he treats me, Tom,_ ~” Harry replied in the softest of voices.

_“~But what exactly does he do to you to make you so happy?~”_

Harry emitted a defeated sob. Being forced to tell Tom something so personal, so private, was crushing him. But he said it, either way he would suffer, but perhaps answering the man might lessen the pain. He began to cry, unable to plug the dam of anguish he had walled up inside of him for so many years. He hadn’t cried in front of Tom for as long as he could remember, but could not stop it any longer. _“~He loves me.~_ ”

_“~He loves you? How do you know?~”_

_“~He told me.~”_

And when Tom bent forward to ask Harry why such a simple word, love, made him so happy, he saw the boy flinch and cower, as he always did when he got physical with him. It stunned the man, because he had no intention to hurt him at that moment. Something sunk into his blinded brain at last, a fundamental emotion he had never personally experienced before now: remorse. _“~Relax, I’m not going to hurt you.~”_

_“~Okay, Tom, whatever you want.~”_

_“~I just want you to relax. Stop flinching.~”_

_“~Okay, sure, I’ll stop, Tom~”_

It never seemed important before, the way he treated Harry. In a million lifetimes Tom would never have imagined that punishing him like a slave, using violence against him would impact Harry’s feelings for him. He stupidly thought that if he used violence instead of magic to inflict discipline Harry would see how special, how unique he was to Tom _._

_“~Why do you keep saying ‘okay’ to everything? Why does everyone always say that?~”_

_“~I don’t know, Tom. I’m so sorry; I won’t say it again.~”_

Never had he thought that the boy would fall in love with someone else. Especially with a client who had paid to have sex with him, over him. Tom felt the sharp stabbing pain inside him grow stronger, eating at his heart. He gazed down upon his boy, who was sitting straight-backed on his knees, waiting for the next order to be given. He was covered in tear-streaked blood and bruises, looking as defeated as any one person could.

Tom knew he was going to lose him, whether he murdered Malfoy or not. Harry was clearly checking out of this thing they had going together. The light in his eyes had faded.

Now the emotion of worry overrode the remorse.

“ _~It’s going to get better. I’ll work on my temper.~”_

_“Okay, Tom, I know you will.~”_

_“~Stop saying ‘okay’, Harry.~”_

_“~I’m sorry.~”_

There was no coming back from this mess. How could he have been so blind? How the fuck did Malfoy get into Harry’s head to make him think that he actually cared about a lucky Half-Blood, an inferior being whose time ran out? Harry was fortunate to have been chosen for such an honour. He should be grateful that he let him serve him all this time. Grateful.

But those erratic thoughts did not make Tom feel any less pained. He tipped the boy's chin up with a knuckle.

_“~Do you love me, Harry?~”_

_“~Yes, Tom,~”_ the boy said in a defeated, frightened voice, praying his master would not look into his eyes.

But Tom could see by watching him that that was a lie. Now sorrow enveloped him. “ _~That’s not true; you don’t love me.~”_

 _“~I want to,~_ ” Harry said, looking up at him. _“~I try so hard to love you. I’d give anything to do that.~”_

 _“~Yes, I know you try,~”_ Tom replied, wistfully. “ _~You do anything and everything I ask without complaint. And maybe I don’t tell you enough how much I appreciate th-~”_

He reached to touch him again as he spoke, but again saw the fear flickering in Harry’s innocent eyes grow bright once more, and his body flinched with an impulsive need to avoid more damage. And it was only then that Tom understood why Harry could not love him, but why he would do anything and everything he asked him to without complaint.

Now he felt regret. _“~I realise now that you have been conditioned to fear me, through no fault of your own. This is on me, I was careless with my handling of you. Thoughtless.~”_

This was yet another test, Harry was certain. He hesitated to speak, unsure of what to say or do to please his master. He sat there, bleeding, his lips trembling as he mustered up the words he thought Tom wanted to hear. Tears splashed onto his kneecaps while he huddled closer to his own legs for protection and comfort. He would fail this new test, he would be punished. He prepared himself for the physical pain, and loneliness of seclusion once Tom left the bordello and walled him up inside that room.

_“~I’m so sorry, Tom. I’ll try harder.~”_

Fear of loss consumed the master’s younger self. Before Harry could say anything else and without hesitation, Tom dropped down on his knees and captured Harry in his arms, and he kissed him. He dipped his tongue into his mouth, wanting to show the boy how much he adored and appreciated his servitude.

Bowing into the kiss, Harry let it happen. Tom had never kissed him anywhere near this passionately before. In fact, he could not remember Tom kissing him before at all.

Tom took his wrists, unhinging his fingers from behind his back, pulled his hands up and placed them around his neck. He lifted Harry up, holding him under his thighs as he stood, never breaking the kiss.

Throwing their bodies over the bed, there grew a great desire to hear his boy mewl and cry from pleasure. He could not recall ever hearing Harry moan before. Tom snatched the boy’s wrists, pinning them at the base of his abdomen as he nudged his thighs apart with his chin. "Just relax now. Close your eyes, my sweet Ganymede." Still in complete control, he shimmied Harry’s little briefs off and drew his tongue up along his inner thighs, reaching his pretty sex. He continued, pleasing his lover, or anyone else other than himself, for the first time in his life. Periodically, he glanced up at the boy while he opened his mind so he could experience the how he was feeling through all of his senses.

"Do you like this, Harry? Don't I make you feel good?" Tom asked him, looking up at his face. It was clear, that although this memory could physically age, his mind would remain that of a narcisistic and sociopathic sixteen year old forever. He could never know what it felt like to fall in love, or to be loved.

“Yes, of course you do, Tom. I’m so sorry,” Harry whimpered, so frightened he was still going to be punished, that maybe Tom was still testing him, and some sort of terrible torture was imminent that might involve teeth. “I’ll never do it again, I swear. I’m so, so sorry.”

Tom shushed him to ease his worry. “You just relax now, darling. Stop that crying. I want you to come for me - good and hard now - I insist. I’m going to make you feel amazing, my dear, much better than that sodding Malfoy ever could.” He rarely rewarded Harry, especially after a punishment, but the troublesome feeling of losing his boy’s loyalty struck blows to his withered heart harder and harder, slicing him to pieces.

He had had Harry so well trained, the boy was so perfectly obedient, and yet three simple words spoken to him in the heat of teenage lust had caused Harry to mentally seek out more. Perhaps some young men might sometimes need to hear and feel that they are loved from their masters in order to keep them in the state they want them; compliant and loyal. Maybe he needed to return the sentiments of pleasure and affection more often.

Harry’s defenceless body quaked with pleasure. Any pleasure was far better than pain, and if he resisted this rare show of affection more pain would certainly come. He wrapped his long legs around his master’s waist and bit down on his lip to keep from screaming out into the room as the surge of his climax peaked, sending him into a fit of uncontrolled convulsions.

Tom threw himself atop of the boy, pinning him down before he recovered. “You see? You see how much I care for you, dear? Who else can make you feel so good when you’re so bloody defiant, hmm? No one except me, that’s who.”

“I know, Tom. Only you can when I’m so defiant.” Harry’s heartbeat began to steady. He let Tom hold him tight, so thankful that he had not harmed him worse than he had. “I didn’t mean to lose control and be happy…it’s just that no one has ever said anything like that to me before. It was exciting, really exciting. I’ve never felt that way before, and I was afraid you’d be cross that something so stupid as words made me happy.”

“Happy…” Tom’s mind was swirling with emotion, hoping these cheap words Malfoy had spoken were only uttered to get Harry to fuck him harder. It hurt to think that his living doll felt closer to someone who had paid to have sex with him, someone he hardly knew. He clutched the boy to his body, frightened to let him go, so scared to lose him now.

You see, no one liked Tom.

No one.

Not even the Dark Lord or the Dark Lord’s snake, Nagini, a frightening creature who steered very clear from him while he was in proximity.

Tom never cared about that; he was the best at what he did, and what he did was murder. Only Harry tolerated him, and he was going to lose that if he didn’t act. “Do you love me now? I made you feel better than he did, right? Aren’t you happy now?”

“Of course, Tom,” Harry whispered, so frightened he would see the truth. “I’m very happy.”

So lost in this conundrum, Tom missed Harry lying to him again.

“What he said to you, about him loving you…you know as well as I do that that was a lie. I’ve been working with him, and I know his family, the Malfoys…such a proud group of pure-blooded heretics. Blood-status means everything to them. Malfoy is a ruthless heathen. He’s killed hundreds of people, Harry, and I know how opposed you are to killing.” Tom caressed Harry’s sweet face while he spoke. “They’re only words, my Ganymede, stupid little words he spewed at you to get you to spread your legs farther apart."

Harry tried his hardest to ignore Tom, to block out what he was saying - but it was so difficult when he had no energy to spare.

"He doesn’t love you. He thinks of you not as a rival from school, but as a meaningless whore. He's told me how much he hates you and he wishes you were dead. He's probably luring you in so he can murder you, just like he murders everyone else."

"That's not true," Harry screamed, but it came out as a whisper.

Tom shrugged smuggly. "I don’t think of you that way, dear. No one loves you like I do—and you’ll never have to see him again. I’ll make sure of that. You’re staying with me anyway, Voldemort said so. You’re going to be fixed so we can spend the rest of our lives together as man and wife. Doesn't that sound lovely? He said I could even introduce you into society. You'd have to get a name change, of course, and still wear your anklet...”

“Wife?” Harry felt himself panting for breath. _Fixed? Changed?_

Tom kissed the boy on the lips to shut him up; a soft, simple kiss, filled with whatever he thought love felt like. “I’ll make everything all better for you. Now, you go to sleep, you’ve got a fever again. I’m going to find Snape for you, make him fix this illness for good.”

“Thank you, Tom.” Crushed, Harry felt the tears in his eyes leak out at the corners as they drifted closed. His master might be right; Draco Malfoy could not love him. That his declaration of love was untrue…but if it was true, he had just lost him forever.

* * *

**3 August**

With a flick to the ear, Bellatrix paused in front of the boy curled up like a whiny toddler in a comfy chair. "Don't sulk, it's not becoming."

Harry rolled his eyes at her as she passed by. He shifted in his seat to sulk a little less noticeably. "Easy for you to say," he mumbled from within his foetal ball. "The only person I look forward to visiting me has been forever-banned from here." _And maybe loves me._

"Things change, darling."

Harry had heard the gossip, he knew that Draco Malfoy had tried to visit again on his birthday and was refused any and all contact with him until the end of time. Hermione said he went ballistic and they had to physically remove him, and that Tom, himself threw him out. They fought with fists, with magic, with words and threats, until several Death Eaters arrived and escorted Draco away for his own protection.

And Harry could not deny it; it really turned him on hearing that Draco stood up to Tom. To Tom Riddle, of all people. Just for him.

It made him wonder why his master would go to such lengths to keep someone out who had lied to him, who he was told did not love him. Maybe Draco really did love him. Why else would he have come back and put up such a grand fight if this were not so? _He does love me._

Harry uncurled from his foetal ball and looked up at Bellatrix, hoping she might confirm the answer.

"Again?! So soon after your birthday?" Instead, Bellatrix gasped at the sight of Harry's battered face. "Is he still hurting you?" She cupped Harry's cheek, pressing the side of it to her as she pulled him up for a hug. "Oh gods, Harry…He couldn't even be bothered to heal you up this time?"

" _Shh!_ " Harry shook his head. "Be quiet, he's still here."

And although the matron of the bordello once hated this rotten heretic of a child with all of her heart, that was not so any more. Over the last six years, this whiny Half-Blood Gryffindor had really grown on Bellatrix. She thought of him as more than just a whore or a slave; as she, herself, had grown with the others. They were like a family now, living together as a team to keep the business going and the Dark Lord from slaughtering them all. "I'm going to our master. I know he'll deal with this."

"No, please, Mistress Bella, don't!" Harry cried, clutching onto her as a small, frightened child might to his mother. "You know what he'll do to me if he punishes Tom again. And he said he'd kill Hermione if I opened my big mouth this time." He shivered in her arms, a shell of himself. Perhaps he had always been this way and she'd never noticed before. "Please, Mistress…don't tell Voldemort, I can't take his wrath again yet."

Bellatrix lowered her head to rest it on Harry's shoulder, knowing the end of this way of life for all of them in the bordello was surely coming to a close. " _Shh_ , it's okay, Harry. I won't tell our master if you don't want me to." But that was a lie, she had every intention on telling the Dark Lord that Tom was getting bad again, that he was worse than before. "Stop fretting now."

It broke her shrivelled heart to hear Harry plead with her in such a panicked tone. The boy had never pleaded with her before for anything. Tom was breaking him; his spirit, his zest for life. It would only be a matter of time before the poor child lost all will to live. Some of the other slaves had succumbed to this fate while serving Bellatrix in the bordello, and none of them recovered. She nuzzled her face into his hair and sighed. "Just know that hiding the things he does to you isn't going to stop…him…"

Hearing a floorboard creak, the madam looked to the door leading to the dining room, spotting Harry's busybody best friend eaves dropping on them again. "Hermione, get me something to heal Harry's face up and lessen his fever."

"Yes, ma'am," the girl replied, as she leaned into the sitting room to look at her friend. Her dark eyes moved from him up over to her mistress to read her expression, and she frowned, noting her mistress' worry.

A little piece of Harry died each and every time Tom lost control. Having a strong streak of bravery meant nothing when one was a slave, it was a useless emotion to muster up in these kinds of situations. Disobedience got you killed in this setting. And even though Harry was primped, pampered and coddled daily, Hermione knew that he would gladly give this privilege up to any of the other slaves if he could to make their lives better instead.

She returned, and handed Bellatrix the potions she requested. She leaned up against the back of Harry's chair and began massaging the boy's tense shoulders while Bella forced him to drink.

"Tell your boyfriend whatever he's giving this child to cure him isn't working. I'm worried that the patrons might catch it…I mean Tom."

Feeling the need to lighten the dreary air stifling their morning, Harry smiled up at his best friend as the cuts, bruises and broken bones in his nose healed over. "Morning, Beautiful, and how was your evening with the greasy potions master?"

"Oh, hush. I've told you hundreds of times he's not so bad. He's very romantic, if you can believe it - once you get past all the grumbling." She lowered her voice to the faintest whisper as she leaned down to place her lips on Harry's ear. "And he's considering buying out my contract. He's going to ask the Dark Lord himself, cash in all of his favours. Just think about that while you're sulking…Maybe Malfoy or his father can buy out your contract."

"That would be great, but Tom said he won't let it happen." Lowering his head, Harry watched his hands while he fidgeted with the buckle on his shoe. "He's leaving when he gets up. He said he's got things to do, but I know he's still testing me. He told me that You-Know-Who wants to put me back inside Riddle House to keep me safe from people like Malfoy." His eyes began to well up with fresh tears. "I don't want to go back there, 'mione."

Bellatrix went stark white. "He said that? He was going to take you out of here and put you back in the house?" She made a gurgling noise as she collapsed on the settee beside Harry, and began fanning herself with a magazine before Hermione took over for her. "I'm screwed. If I lose the Death Eaters' visits, if I lose Barty Crouch Jr or Mulciber I'll lose everything."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hermione said sadly to both of them, sighing. She leaned down and hugged Harry's shoulders. "I suppose it's a good thing they won't let Malfoy back inside then. He's trouble, filling your head with the nonsense about love."

"Wake up, Mistress." Harry patted Bella's cheek to rouse her as he pouted up at Hermione, heeding her words. Maybe flirting with happiness and believing that Draco Malfoy could change his life was fruitless. As of yet Harry had gotten a false sense of comfort and hope for a real future when he knew deep down inside that the Dark Lord would never encourage any sort of happiness for him. "I guess you're right." Harry would remain a slave forever, fixed and changed, forced to marry Tom and lose himself to madness. He now prayed that this fever consuming him would finally do him in.


	4. Out of the Frying Pan, into the Manor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's wildest dreams finally come true. Draco returns to him, and has him delivered to his Manor. Little changes in the ways of life inside the bordello, though, as the Dark Lord gives specific orders to keep his trophy exactly how he likes him. Even in that respect, Harry always feels better when Draco gets home.
> 
> Life is growing, with Harry reaping it, until Voldemort, his new wife and the frighteningly deranged young Tom come by for dinner - then everything changes.

**July 1999**

It was a rare occasion when the Dark Lord came to visit for more than just a one-sided shag involving Bellatrix and whoever he could talk her into getting to join them. But this eve was unique; the bordello closed for business to host a party for him to celebrate the downfall of some other country’s Ministry. Harry was not allowed to ask about details, but Hermione had told him that it wasn’t another Ministry which collapsed, but their own. This party was a propaganda tool to relax the worries and fears of the Pure-Blood assholes who funded the dictator so Voldemort could remain in control. 

Harry, himself, had little to celebrate. For one, Tom would be there but Draco most likely would not. Sitting squished between Nymphadora and Fleur on an ancient settee dressed in a bobbie suit, he nibbled at the polish painted on his fingernails. All he wanted to do was go to bed and sleep. His fever was relentless, causing sweat to pool at the small of his back. Normally, he did not feel terribly sick during these moments of ill health, but tonight he felt like he was dying. 

It had been around a year since Draco had been banned from visiting the bordello, particularly visiting with Harry. But not by Bellatrix, and not by the Dark Lord. A whole year. And even the gifts and love letters he had his aunt sneak inside to him stopped coming after Christmas. It felt like an eternity, that if he could never see him again he would rather die. Tears welled up in his eyes whenever it popped back up in his mind.

Draco’s face was beginning to blur, just like everyone else’s had once they were removed from his life. Soon, his beautiful visage would be too muddled to remember. 

And it didn’t help that Tom boasted non-stop about what a terrible person Draco was, told him how Draco told all of the Death Eaters that he really never loved Harry, and how glad he was that he would never have to see him again. There were times when Tom would swoop in and leave handfuls of satiny white hair draped over Harry’s pillow to wake up to. Once, he left a tooth, another time an eyeball. He left a dead eagle owl hanging over his bathtub once, and a cauldron full of severed fingers floating in thick blood, too. But Harry could see just by looking at them that they were not Draco’s; not long and elegant, they were Crouch’s knobby fingers. 

Tom did his very best to understand what love was, but he would never know how it felt to actually experience it. And when that didn’t work, Tom used what he had going for him to keep Harry frightened and subservient. Besides all the horrible ‘gifts’ he gave Harry, he plagued his dreams every night, turning all of them involving Draco into terrifying nightmares. 

Harry was losing his grip on sanity, and only the Amortentia Tom drugged him up with allowed him to tolerate him or kept him from offing himself. 

He looked up, hearing his name whispered. Nymphadora elbowed him while gesturing for him to address the person calling him. He looked across the room and smiled at his new 'wife', Ginny. Heavily pregnant, the colourless girl put a hand on her back and winced. “I’m in labour, Harry.” 

Angelina, newly married off to Draco, and Hermione, soon to be shipped off to Snape, comforted her during her trauma. 

“Holy smokes!” Harry tried to stand but someone pushed him back down. 

 _“She’s fine. Ignore her like the rest of us do.”_  

Harry, Fleur and Nymphadora looked up at their mistress with smiles, the thing she insisted upon them wearing at all times during the party. The statuesque dame bent down, clapping the two females cheeks before huffing while she wiped Harry’s tears away. “No more crying, that’s an order. Our master will be arriving soon and if he sees you crying it’ll put him off. And we don’t want to put him off,” she warned the boy as she cupped his chin to force him to look at her. 

“I’m sorry, Mistress Bella.” 

Bellatrix adjusted the bows in their hair and stood back to look over her three prized courtesans. She would miss them terribly. “Keep those smiles up, stay pretty.” She turned and snapped her fingers several times to get Hermione’s attention. “Get her out of here.” 

Hermione helped the girl stand. “Yes, Mistress Bella.” 

The room was decked out in spectacular colour, enlarged enough to house all of the whores as well as Death Eaters and Pure-Blood patrons who would be attending the event. Everyone who was anyone had been invited to be there, to rub elbows with the most powerful and isolated man in the world, to let him reassure them that all was well. He would also be overseeing the auction of the slaves residing inside the bordello, unbeknownst to them. He, alone, would be dictating which slave went to whom, and if they were pure or half-blooded, their prearranged marriages would remain intact. 

Guests began to emerge through the fireplace, one right after the other, until the banquet-sized room was filled to the brim with their Lord’s most devoted. Harry was utterly shocked at the amount of women that were attending, having not seen one since his capture that did not work inside the bordello. Tonight was bigger than Harry had anticipated, this party was more than a thank-you to the patrons who paid good money to sleep with the slaves inside. Something big was happening, he could feel it.

There was a line drawn around the settee, it being a magical barrier that disallowed anyone who was not permitted to from approaching the trio. Not that it stopped anyone from trying. And it was amusing watching their eyebrows get singed off when they did. Harry and Nymphadora cackled, watching Crabbe Sr move in toward the two with grabby hands clawed, until he hit the barrier and fell back on his over-sized behind. 

Harry watched Snape scoop Hermione up and carry her to the dancefloor. He waved at Nymphadora when Antonin Dolohov asked for a dance, and took her hand in his to whisk her away. Within minutes, Sirius was nodding at Harry while he swept Fleur up into his arms and danced her away. Now alone, he slumped into the settee and let the fake smile he was giving drift downward. 

 _“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”_  

There was someone standing over Harry, brushing his cheek with the back of his hand. The fever lifted the moment he looked up into the most beautiful grey eyes he had ever seen before, and his once forced smile grew genuine. His angel was standing before him, dressed in a handsome dinner suit with top hat and tails. Pure happiness filled in the hollow sadness that had gutted him over the last year. Draco Malfoy had at last returned. 

Harry placed his hand inside Draco’s and let him help him stand. “Hi,” he whispered, as Draco pulled him into his embrace and hugged him. “Oh my gosh, I missed you so much.” 

“I missed you too, love,” Draco whispered back. 

“I thought you weren’t allowed to come back.” 

“Things change, Harry,” Draco said, as he retook Harry’s hand to lead him to the dancefloor. 

* * *

Lord Voldemort, wearing forest-green ceremonial dress robes and accompanied by his companion snake, parted the crowd to reach the podium set up for him to address his subordinates. Everyone stopped what they were doing to grant him their undivided attention. 

Draco draped his arms around Harry’s shoulders and grazed his cheek with his lips, uncaring who saw him smothering the courtesan with as much affection he could muster. His eyes roamed over the crowd in search of Tom, knowing he was somewhere in the room with him. He had been warned not to come, not to touch his catamite, to not even think about him. His wand was hidden up his sleeve, he was more than ready to defend himself. 

Within one year, Draco had become a favoured Death Eater of the Dark Lord’s. He was an amazing speaker, and worked out ways to sway unbelievers by avoiding the use of force, and certainly avoiding murder. He was a lover, he put his mind to work for the Dark Lord, to use persuasion and trade to get what they wanted, rather than violence. He had been granted access to things and places an average wizard was not, and he used it all to his advantage. And in doing so sparked the master of wizarding Britain’s interest in him more and more as each day passed. 

As Voldemort spoke, announcing his impending marriage to Bellatrix Lestrange and patting himself on the back for pairing off myriads of couples for procreation, Harry began to relax up against Draco’s body despite eyeing the wedding ring glinting in the candlelight on his finger. He looked over his shoulder, catching his eye, and he smiled. “Will I ever see you again after this is over?” 

“You might,” Draco replied. He smirked as he hugged up against Harry’s back, and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Maybe sooner than you think.” 

Tom was now standing at the podium beside the Dark Lord, scowling at them both. His left hand was suspended in the air by his shoulder, flicking tiny balls of Fiendfyre at the ceiling while Voldemort explained how Riddle House had not been destroyed by the rebels as rumour had it, but by an act of God. Harry rubbed his scar, cringing at the pain his master's younger self was inflicting upon him. 

Voldemort pulled Tom in to his side and extinguished the Fiendfyre torching the roof with a flick of his wand. “Not now, Tom, the bordello needs to stay standing until we leave." He grinned at the crowd. "What a sweet boy he is, my youthful Tom. So full of energy, a spitfire of my younger self. Isn’t that right, my lovely followers?” He gestured to the crowd, encouraging them to applaud. And they did.

Tom glared at the crowd for a moment before centring back on Harry. He was doing his utmost to intimidate him with the threat of violence he promised screaming at him inside his head. And, likewise, the crowd did their best to pretend they were enamoured with the boy, if only to avoid the Dark Lord’s wrath. 

The speech ended, and Draco and Harry watched Tom prod the Dark Lord while he pointed at them, spewing a slew of curse words in their direction while demanding Voldemort do something about this blasphemy. 

Draco stood unmoving, and kept Harry from running off to hide from them as they approached. 

Harry, in return, reached behind him and clasped his hand together with Draco’s, knowing they were about to be separated the moment the two evil wizards reached them. “No matter what happens - I will always love you, Draco Malfoy.” 

But instead of declaring his of undying love in return, Draco yanked his hand out of Harry’s and thrust it forward to shake his master’s. “Good evening, my Lord.” 

And Voldemort eagerly shook it. “Good evening, Mr Malfoy. I trust you’re satisfied with what we spoke about during our last meeting?” He made brief eye-contact with Harry as they conversed. 

Draco glanced at Tom, letting his eyes roam down from his spit-shined boots up to his heated pink face. He smirked and drew his arm tighter around Harry, whispering words of comfort in his ear, before turning back to face the Dark Lord. “Very satisfied, sir. Thank you.” 

"I see..." Tom began to breathe heavily through his nostrils, and his lips twitched open, revealing his gritted teeth. "Aren't you a cookie." He made a fist, squeezing it as hard as he could.

Harry flinched with an eruption of agonising pain - but it stopped just as soon as it started. 

Voldemort kept his maddened smile on Draco but dropped a skeletal hand on Harry’s shoulder, giving it a single reassuring pat. “Everything should be in place by the end of the week. I’ll deliver the goods to your home personally, as per our agreement.” 

“What are you talking about-what goods?” Tom crowed, taking an abrupt step toward his catamite. He lashed out, grabbing him by the lacy collar. _“ ~Look here, slut! You tell your master what we spoke about! Tell Voldemort you want to stay with me!~”_  

Harry’s head swayed vigorously side by side. _“~But I don’t want to stay with you—you made me say that to you!~” Neither of them_  had any idea of what the Dark Lord or Draco were discussing, but Harry no longer would he do Tom’s bidding. He had stopped obeying his orders months back, directly after he was forced to impregnate Ginny .

Draco pulled his lover’s snagged clothing back from Tom’s desperate grasp. He stepped in front of the frightened boy with visual aggression showing on his face. “Step away, Riddle.” Both he and the wicked memory were glaring at the other, teeth bared, fists clenched around their wands. “I’m giving you this one warning.” 

Infuriated, Tom centred his hatred back on his catamite. “ _~I’ll teach you a lesson after this party you’ll never forget, you useless tart!~”_  

Harry scowled at him, unable to hide his loathe for him any longer. _“~Do your worst--I don’t care!~”_  

“Enough.” Voldemort separated them as he stepped back. His spidery fingers closed around Tom’s forearm while he smiled at the crowd of people watching the growing fight. “Time to mingle, me thinks. Enjoy your evening, Mr Malfoy…Potter. Come along, Tom.” 

* * *

The fever had returned. It felt like this unknown illness was slowly killing Harry. That, along the punishment he’d received after the party that Tom had promised him. Now, lying on his ornate bed, he weathered out the storm of agony he had been graced with. It had been three days since he saw Malfoy. Three of the longest days of his life. It was all he could think about while he waited for Tom’s return. Thank Merlin he had been called away, but he would be back soon, and the punishment would commence. 

Watching his house-mates being auctioned off had taken a great toll on his will to live. Hermione was sold off to Severus Snape. He figured that would happen. And Fleur; he knew Sirius Black would snatch her up. What he did not expect was that Snape also purchased Ginny, despite her giving birth to Harry’s first child in the dining area of the bordello at that same moment. And Black also purchased Nymphadora, stealing her away from Dolohov. Thusly, he and Snape had taken his four closest friends away. Angelina, Hannah and Justin went off to other suitors whom Harry did not recognise, all paying good money for them. The other whores Harry did not associate with were not slaves, and would remain where they were, he assumed.

But no one had paid for Harry. Not Draco, nor Tom. He wasn’t even put up for auction, but he did not know why. 

A crackle of magic pounded into Harry’s ears. Curled up on his bed to endure the pain wracking his body, he lay unmoving trying to ride it out. He opened an eye, having not heard such sounds since the last time someone apparated inside his room. 

 _“~Evening, Potter.~”_  

Harry sat straight up, hopped off the bed to drop down in front of the Dark Lord. He bowed low before him, and placed a kiss on his feet. “ _~Good evening, Lord Voldemort.~”_ It wasn’t like he wanted to do any of these worshipping actions, the anklet ‘encouraged’ him to whenever he was summoned. 

 _“ ~Stand,~_ _”_ he said, and gestured for Harry to cease prostrating himself. 

He gripped the boy’s chin to look him over, seeing that his trophy had come close to dying again, evidenced by the bruising around his throat. The boy looked like death warmed over, and his skin was hot to the touch. Fortunately, Tom could never harm Harry enough to kill him. Still, he had made a deal to keep Potter safe and happy, and judging by the sadness Harry could not hide, nor the extensive damage done to his face, the boy would indeed need to be re-homed in order to keep Sirius Black from telling the world all of their little secrets. _“~Fortunate it is that your Godfather cannot see this damage.~_ ” 

Harry stood there, straight-backed and unmoving, hands limp at his sides, wide-eyed and emotionless while his master examined him; just the way the Dark Lord wanted children to behave around him when they were blessed enough to bask in his presence. 

Voldemort looked tense, until he peeked up at the enormous portrait of Nagini and himself hanging on the wall behind the boy and relaxed, he even smiled. He was quite fond of his own appearance. _“~This room always impresses me.~”_  

Fighting the urge to chat up his portrait, the Dark Lord reminded himself of the time. He had sent Tom off on an errand so he could collect the package he came for and deliver it to the Death Eater who earned it. _“~So, err…~”_ Always awkward when Harry and he were alone together, he stammered to come up with what to say to get the boy to cooperate without using an Unforgivable. He glanced around the room for a moment. _“~Although the initial plan was to keep you here forever, under Bellatrix’s watchful eye, that does not seem possible any more. I had pondered on this situation for some time now. Tom, as you know, can be very persuasive. He begged me to fix you, let him marry you. Unfortunately, he’s sterile, hence your marriage to the albino Weasley._

 _"I was hesitant, I admit, despite all the effort and resources the young man I’m to deliver you to produced to secure you. Severus has put a good word in for Malfoy. He believes the young man will follow my orders regarding you without any foreseeable problems. Personally, I am growing quite fond of him myself.~”_  

He paused for a moment, making himself consider Harry’s feelings. It was something he had been learning how to do recently, as his natural cold indifference to his followers was not really working in his favour any more. _“~Is there anything you want to take with you before we go? Sentimental items, or something you can’t live without? If so, chop-chop. I have things to do. As you know, wee Potter, I am a very busy man. ~”_  

“Sir?” Harry asked him, confused. 

Voldemort bent his wand in frustration, ceasing his use of Parseltongue. He bent down a bit to meet him in the eye. His lip curled up on one side. “You won’t be coming back here…I am not your personal taxi, Potter.” 

“Personal? Am I leaving?” Harry dared to ask. 

With a huff, the Dark Lord thrust out a taloned hand. “Come now, child. I want you gone before he gets back,” he snapped. It did not matter that Harry was nearly fully grown, he thought he might always look upon him as a young child. He flicked his fingers upward in an impatient rapid succession, sneering, beckoning the boy for his hand. “Forget packing - I’ll have a stipend set up with the Malfoys for your expenses. I don’t have the patience for children - _~Your hand, boy!~”_

Despite the searing pain resonating through his head, Harry dropped his hand into the Dark Lord’s and allowed him to slither up against him for Side-Along Apparition. His heart began to thump harder, hearing the name ‘Malfoy’ being spoken. After so many years of captivity, he hardly had the wherewithal to comprehend what his captor was conveying, but he hoped and prayed it meant something good. He heaved in a deep breath, shaking with nervous excitement, despite being hugged by Voldemort, as the man prepared to deliver him to his new home. 

* * *

Tom Chortled as he tiptoed around the large bedroom chamber in search of his catamite, thinking maybe he might be hiding. He could not sense him inside his head, which was odd. “Are you hiding from me, dear? Did someone hurt you? Come out, my precious Ganymede. Please, don’t hide from me, my love…” 

Slowly, the idea that Harry was hiding from him began to drift away. And there was no way in hell Harry could have walked out of the bordello on his own: the charm bracelet around his ankle was not easily removable and it prevented the boy from any sort of free thinking. Harry would have dropped like a stone if he attempted to flee - or even just thought about it. No, if he was no longer inside the bordello, someone removed him from it. 

Bellatrix stood in the doorway shaking like a leaf. “Tom, he has to be here,” she whispered. “No one has come to visit him.” 

“What about that Malfoy character?” he hissed, scowling. 

“No, I have not seen him since the party where he and Harry…” Bellatrix closed her mouth, unable to finish. 

“How could you not know he was missing, woman?” Tom spit back in response. He had no idea why his older self was smitten with her, betrothed to her. She was a brown-nosing whore to him, an imbecile who could barely keep the brothel in check on her own. 

There was always hushed murmuring and rushing around to make it look like things were in order whenever he arrived unannounced to visit with Harry. He had mentioned this fact to Voldemort countless times, only to be told to leave it be, that Bellatrix was a fine guardian, and to shut up and keep his nose out of it. He gripped his wand in a threatening manner as he approached her, but stopped just short of penetrating her personal space. “When was the last time you saw him, you fucking nasty slut?” 

“He was here this morning, resting,” she gushed. "He didn't want company, sent me off."

“He was still feverish,” Tom said darkly, as he moved to gaze upon himself in the full length mirror standing by the bed. The magical torture his master had given him some years back for being too rough with his catamite had severely crippled him, sterilised him. The illusion of perfection began to fade. He watched his skin grow pale as the thought of losing Harry set in. “I do recall him saying something about not feeling well the other day.” He looked at Bellatrix, frowning. “Did you ever get a medi-witch in here and make him better?” 

“He’s been ill for months, Mr Riddle, maybe a year now. Severus Snape has been treating him for this. He came to deliver a potion to him just before you arrived but he could not find him. I assumed he was off in the bath, or I thought maybe you had taken him somewhere, as you have done before in the past. I had no idea he went missing…” 

The tall woman dropped to her knees, so disgusted with herself for failing her master and letting Tom down again. She swiped at the tears building up in her lashes. “You simply must inform our master of his disappearance this instant, Tom.” 

 _“ ~Ridiculous woman!~_ _”_ Tom hissed. He thrust his wand out, setting the bed and decor all over the room on fire in odium. _“~YOU USELESS BITCH!~”_ he screamed at her in Parseltongue as he stomped across the room and aggressively hovered over her cowering form. 

His head was splitting from pain while his body shook with anger. His pale skin was stark white, and his forehead was purling sweat. “You find my boy right now or I go out there and snuff Rosmerta.” He grabbed up a handful of shiny black hair to be certain the mistress was looking at him. “She’s your prize whore, right? I will tear her apart piece by piece! Do you understand me?” He held her in place for a moment, pondering why Voldemort favoured her. "I have no idea why he fancies you. You make me want to retch."

Bellatrix backed away the instant he released her, still cowering as she fled the room. Lord Voldemort was one thing; a powerful, frightening god who she worshipped and feared like no other, but Tom…Tom was an evil entity all on his own. 

Unable to use the title his older self acquired, he was considered a lesser being to Voldemort, a damaged creature who lurked in place of his master. He was the Dark Lord’s brawn, less-than-whole from the aftermath from leeching out a soul to use as his own from Ginny Weasley. He did all the dirty work mere Death Eaters could not do, he made wizards pay for their errors in blood. He was given Harry Potter as a gift but only as long as he keep him hidden away from sunlight, ignorant of facts, completely helpless and dependant on him, and most of all - safe and happy, so that he never desired the escape to fix this broken world. 

“THE ONLY REASON YOU ARE NOT DEAD RIGHT NOW IS BECAUSE I’M WAITING ON MY MASTER’S GO AHEAD TO BURN THIS WRETCHED PLACE TO THE GROUND!” 

The hallway leading to Harry’s chambers imploded, littering the floor with concrete. Two guards ran into it and stopped, lowering themselves to the Dark Lord’s young self as they backed away with apologies. “Yeah, you better fuckin’ run, pathetic, useless guards,” he grumbled, with saliva leaking from his bottom lip. “GUARDING WHAT!?” He swiped it away with the back of his hand before touching the brand on his forearm to alert his older self of Harry Potter’s missing status. 

* * *

 “…and I apologise for the state of the boy’s undress, and, of course, the uhh…the ugly marks left on his face. As you may know, Tom has a problem with impulse control. And I don’t know how to…I don’t heal anything. That is not my speciality. Surely you understand.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Right, well, I’ll have Delores set up a stipend for him so you can get him things…what he will need; clothing, toiletries, err eating and such…stuff boys need, you know.” 

“I have a grasp on that subject of what boys need, my Lord. He’ll be in good hands.” 

Voldemort gave the woman of the manor a nod of approval. “I have no doubts about that, you’ve raised a lovely young man. He’ll be going places, for certain. Now, I must take my leave.” 

He shifted a bit to face the man of the manor, giving the elder Malfoy a tip to the head. “Remember what I said, Lucius; the boy’s jewellery can not be removed, and do not alter his brand. Alter the wards for Apparition access to and from these grounds only be used by yourselves and me. Potter learns nothing about what’s going on outside nor does he leave this place for any reason. Tell no one he is here and, most important, do not allow Tom inside this manor unless he accompanies me. Also, Harry will need to be paired up with his partner at least once a year for breeding purposes. These guidelines are non-negotiable, as per your son’s and my agreement.” 

“Yes, of course, my Lord.” 

The Dark Lord turned one more time, centring his gaze upon the only living creature on Earth that still frightened him. He spoke not to Harry, but to the young master of the manor who was standing behind him. “Remember, Harry will be subject to removal if any of these rules are broken…or at my discretion. I may have reason to ‘borrow’ him from time to time. And heed my warnings about Tom. He is wilful…not right in the head.” 

Draco gave the man a nod. “Yes, my Lord.” 

“If he attempts to enter, alert my guard with this.” Voldemort tossed the young Death Eater a coin, flipping it into the air. Draco reached up and snatched it. It was a replica of a Golden Galleon, the colour a shade off from a real one. 

A crackle of strong magic pulsed through the large sitting room everyone was standing in. The Dark Lord was gone, and Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy turned to look upon their new tenant. 

Harry had never laid eyes on Draco’s mother before, but he remembered his father all too well. Not akin to hiding his emotions any more, or able to throw up a brave facade, he began to crumble. 

Everything felt so different. The room they were standing in was so cold and spotless, making him feel sorely out of place. It was practically empty, adorned in cool shades of blue that chilled Harry’s blood. The two adults staring him down looked as if they were waiting for the right moment to drop the niceties and murder him. And even with Draco draped around him like a human shield, he shivered from the dower negativity assaulting him from all around. He got up on his toes and whispered into Draco’s ear. 

“It’s okay, love,” Draco replied, while eyeing his mother and father. 

Narcissa found herself staring at Potter with her mouth hung open. The young man was trembling in her son’s arms as if he were his father, so frightened of everything around him. She nudged her husband’s arm, drawing his attention away from their new guest. “This is the boy the Dark Lord couldn’t kill?” 

Lucius shifted his weight around through a mixture of agitation and guilt. “Don’t start with me already, he just got here.” 

Harry looked about as ferocious and scary as a newborn puppy suckling at a teat. The boy couldn’t even look either of them in the eye let alone take over the world. He was clad only in a short silk dressing gown that left little to the imagination, and a pair of delicate slippers in periwinkle blue. He was as pretty and delicate a thing she had ever laid eyes on, and his trembling helplessness only served to capture her heart. She elbowed her husband’s side again before addressing her son. “Draco, why don’t you show Mr Potter to his chambers. We’ll get to know each other better once he feels up for it.” 

“Go on, Draco,” Lucius layered on, emphasising his irritation with having to house this sworn enemy. Neither Draco, or even Narcissa, knew there was far more to this arrangement than rewarding their son for becoming a Death Eater. 

Narcissa watched her child escort the boy away. Harry looked pale, confused. He was nibbling on his French-manicured fingernails while Draco hugged him to his body and led him out of the room. 

“Well,” she said, snorting, “at least our boy has a good eye for discovering and acquiring dark objects, just like his daddy.” 

Lucius exhaled a heated breath before smirking back at his wife. “Oh, do shut up, Cissy.” 

* * *

“All of this is yours.” 

“How?” 

“What do you mean ‘how’? It’s yours. Everything inside this room belongs to you now.” 

“I don’t have any things here. All of my possessions are back at the White Wyvern. I don’t recognise any of this stuff.” 

Draco eased Harry down into a chair, one resting beside his bed inside his chambers. “Stop worrying like that.”

For the time being, the older adults occupying Malfoy Manor did not know what sort of relationship he and Harry had going on together, at least he didn’t think they knew how close they had become. All the same, he didn’t want to stir up anything that might damage Harry’s already paper-thin self esteem yet. He looked so frail and damaged. Everything was touch-and-go from this point on. 

Kneeling in front of him, he took Harry’s hand within his. “From now on I’m taking care of you. No one can hurt you anymore.” He gestured to the setting. “I had everything delivered here especially for you. I’m sure my mum won’t let us sleep together…yet, and I want you to feel comfortable here, love.” 

Harry glanced around the large bedroom a bit more carefully the second time around. The bed was dressed in dark cottons. There were no bows, no satin, no tulle. He tensed up through a giggle and squeezed Draco’s hand as it became clear; he lived here now. “This is my room?” 

“This is your room.” 

“And the door will stay there once you leave?” 

“Yes, doll, the door will be there at all times.” 

“And I won’t be having company?” 

“Never again.” 

“You promise?” Harry bent forward in his chair, looking into Draco’s irises for the truth. “Not even Tom?” 

Draco’s lip twitched. He clenched his teeth at the sight of his beloved Harry’s battered face. “Especially not Tom.” 

Harry wanted to be happier, but it was hard to feel good about being rescued and lavished with wealth. This was definitely not how he thought his life would turn out, even after he found out he was a wizard. Now, he was a wizard with no power, trapped forever inside another dollhouse. At least he would be spending his sentence with Draco. He took his hand back to wrap it around his lover’s neck. 

“Thank you, Draco. I don’t know what else to say.” 

“Just tell me how amazing I am, and then kiss me,” he replied, mugging for the other young man. 

The cold air chilling Harry’s bones began to heat up. He wrapped his limbs around his lover as Draco stood up to carry him to bed. 

“Tell me again,” Harry whispered, as Draco draped him over his forearm to kiss him once they’d settled into the bedding. “I wanna hear you say it again. It’s been forever.” 

Draco’s lips grazed with Harry’s. He was so close, feeling the fire between them warm his cheeks. “Tell you what?” 

“What you told me before Tom took you away from me,” Harry replied, before nibbling on his bottom lip, so frightened he might not say it. “Tell me you love me again.” 

“I love you,” Draco avowed without a hint of hesitation. He slipped the dressing gown off of Harry’s shoulder and kissed it. He leaned in closer to brush his lips along the line of his neck. “I will always love you.” 

“It’s so good to see you again.” A tear leaked from the corner of Harry’s eye. 

Draco swept it up with his tongue. “Why are you crying? You’re here now. You’re with me.” 

It was true, as strange as it was. Harry wasn’t going to be serving Death Eaters anymore. He was safe now, underneath his lover, the two things he had wished for every night since Tom found out about him. “I’m just so happy."

Draco kissed him in his arms. Everything grew quiet, sans the rustling of sheets and stripping down. Harry kept his eyes open. He could not help but feel the need to be certain they were still alone, still inside these chambers, and not back at the bordello. He’d only been removed from it twice before. Once, when Tom had taken Harry to a raid, so he could watch the last of the Order of the Phoenix die by his hand. The other time, it was Voldemort who borrowed him, needing some odd-looking diplomats to see that he indeed had the living trophy he had bragged about capturing. Neither time was anything near pleasant, both were terrifying. 

* * *

Late in the night, hearing guttural whimpering resounding through the halls, Narcissa bolted upright in her bed. Her heart was racing, having never woken up to such a sound before. She glanced down at her husband, who hadn’t heard a thing. Frustrated, she threw her bedding off and stood up, intent on finding out why their new guest was crying. 

She crept into Harry’s chambers, certain she’d find her son lurking inside or screwing the boy senseless; but Draco was not there. Surprised he had obeyed her request to wait until everyone was a bit more comfortable with one another before they commenced their affair, Narcissa’s trek to the large four-poster bed on the other side of the room lightened up. 

She peeled back the curtain obscuring her view and found Harry all curled up in a ball, seemingly in the throes of a nightmare. She reached out, touching his shoulder to stir him. “Harry, Harry wake up.” 

Harry’s eyes opened. “Do I have company, Mistress Bella?” he asked her before his vision or mind adjusted to the darkness.

It hit the woman for the first time since reluctantly agreeing on taking this boy in, what the words meant that he was saying. She knew her sister was running a bordello, but it hadn’t occurred to her the slaves she was housing were the whores that worked there. She pulled her hand back with a sigh. “No, dear, you're not there anymore, and you don’t do that anymore. You’re here now at Malfoy Manor.” 

“I see.” Harry sat up in bed and put his glasses on so he could look around in the darkness. He had yet to focus on this other woman, this lady who reminded him so much of his mistress. “You look like her, sound like her. Um, is there a powder room I can use, Mistress Malfoy?” 

“Err…I’m not a mistress. Just call me Narcissa,” she replied, cringing. She stepped back and pointed to a door across the room. “It’s in there.” 

The sheet Harry was wrapped up in pooled on the floor as he stood up to cross the room. Narcissa gasped behind her hand, seeing him saunter away naked as a jaybird without a hint of shame. A massive tattoo covered most of his lower backside, a snake winding its body through the holes of a skull. She grabbed his dressing gown that had been draped over the bedstead, and rushed up behind him to cover his shoulders.

"Here." She felt him tense his body as she touched him. “We don’t typically walk around in the nude here, honey.” 

Harry looked back at her as he pulled the material over his shoulders and tied the sash. “I’m so sorry, Narcissa, I didn’t mean to offend you. I didn’t know…” 

He looked like he was about to burst into tears. The poor kid was so innocent, so naive about how to act like a normal human being around people who weren’t paying to have sex with him. “That’s fine, Harry.” She placed a hand on his shoulder and nudged him toward the lavatory. “I’ll help you with any of those things they haven’t taught you in the uh…in that place.” 

“The White Wyvern,” Harry told her through a giggle. He thought it was the most famous place in the world and found it amusing she didn’t know its name. 

“The White Wyvern, yes,” Narcissa replied. She opened the door for the boy and flipped on the lights, illuminating the room. Harry stepped inside and bent over the basin to look at his face in the mirror hanging on the wall. The woman could see that his forehead had been bleeding quite clearly now, which was probably the reason for his rousing cries. “Are you all right?” 

“It’s Tom,” Harry replied as he rubbed water on his face to clean up. “He’s been demanding to know where I am, but I promised Lord Voldemort I would never tell, and I won't. I'll never tell.” 

Narcissa blinked. She was shocked at Harry’s lack of fear of speaking their master’s name, saying it with such confidence that it slipped from his tongue without stammering about, as everyone else always did. There was no way in hell she would be able to fall back asleep now, having so many of her questions about this boy being met with more questions. 

“Hey,” she said through a yawn, looking away from the loo as Harry scanned over his body in the mirror before using the toilet. “I’m not tired any more, and I’d love to get to know you better…do you like cocoa?” 

Harry, who was washing up at the basin, stopping to look at her. “I love cocoa.” 

“Wonderful. _Dobby!_ _”_ she shouted. “Dobby, I need two cocoas delivered to Potter’s chambers.” 

“Ohmygosh, I know Dobby!” Harry cried, rushing to the doorway and past Narcissa, to await for the House Elf’s arrival. He glanced back at the blond with a childish grin. "I haven't seen him in years."

"He's probably asleep," she replied, but paused. "Wait, how do you know our House Elf?"

"He came to visit me at the Dursley's," Harry replied. His eyes flitted upward. “He knew this would happen, Mrs Malfoy, way back in my second year. He gave me fair warning about Tom Riddle...and your husband. I should have listened to him, but this stupid Gryffindor bravery always got in the way. It gets you so little, you know? I wasn’t clever enough to understand until it was too late…until after the basilisk poisoned me and Tom Riddle became human.” He shivered through a chill, as the faded memories of that fateful evening crept back into the forefront of his mind. 

A sense of horror began to spread evenly throughout Narcissa’s petite frame. The words the boy was speaking finally made all the sense in the world. She had feared her husband had something to do with the chain of events that brought about the rise of Lord Voldemort, and maybe she was happy and proud of him for that reason at the time. But now… “What do you mean - he warned you about my husband?” 

Dobby appeared inside the chamber and set a tray on the small table beside the bed. 

“Hello, Dobby, it’s good to see you again,” Harry said, and watched the elf slow-turn to look at him, and then gaze up at his mistress in fear. 

“That’s all, Dobby, you may go,” Narcissa said, shooing him away. She forced herself to smile, took Harry by the hand and led him to the table. She needed answers. She felt as blind and naive as the boy looked about the events that led up to this point. “Sit, honey.” She took a seat opposite Harry and relaxed into it. She lifted her cup with and extended pinky, taking a sip of her cocoa. “Now, let’s get to know one another. I want to hear everything. Start with meeting Dobby.” 

* * *

Everything they spoke of went well until Harry got to the part of the story about the bordello, then everything went straight to hell. Scant memories of his arrival seemed to torture his as badly as Tom had to his mind. He was thirteen years old, plucked fresh out of Riddle House after a long interrogation, to be encased in a room with no door. Every bone in his body had been shattered into dust, only to be reformed to enhance his beauty, as they did to any slave who served their masters with sex. 

“Thirteen? Are you sure?” Narcissa emptied her wineglass, as cocoa was not helping her hear about all the horrible things her sister had done, or that her husband was the one who started this whole ordeal. “When did you have to…you know. Surely not at thirteen.” 

“I began training when I healed up. It took a few months, but when I was able to do so Mistress Bella taught me what to do,” Harry told her. 

“And what was that,” the woman heard herself say as she poured another glass of wine for herself and one for Harry. “Drink up, keep talking.” 

“Sex,” Harry said, shrugging. “She taught me everything she knew about how to pleasure men, because women don’t typically visit whorehouses. Not saying I haven’t--I have slept with a girl before, I just don’t remember it well. Tom was giving me a lot of grief during it, and Lord Voldemort said I had to finish up so he could go home, so I did it really fast and got the hell out of there. I’m not sure how to please a woman properly, but I assume it can’t be too much different.” 

Narcissa blinked a few times before remembering to breathe. “When did you have to start…um, pleasuring men?” 

Harry tipped his head to think for a moment. “I think my first time was during Christmas. Yeah, with Mr Mulciber.” 

The woman's facial expression grew dimmer and dimmer after each question was answered. “He’s a Death Eater.” 

Harry shrugged. “Yes, a Death Eater; my typical clientele. I haven’t slept with more than ten of them, or so. Most Death Eaters are straight. Loads of them sleep with the girls, though. Not all of them, mind you. I’ve never seen your husband there.” 

The woman uncharacteristically snorted. “Well that’s a plus.”

“Although he did pay for your son to visit with me, that I’m sure of. Mistress Bella told me. He dumped loads of money into the bordello so Draco could sleep with me.” Harry blushed, having spoken about he and her son's affair to her. 

Narcissa pinched herself to stop her screaming before it happened. “Is that so?” 

Harry gave her a nod. “Yes, that’s so. The last time we slept together in the bordello he paid thousands of Galleons for Draco to reserve my birthday, so that even Tom couldn’t have me that weekend…even if he actually did. Thousands. Mistress Bella nearly pissed herself.” 

“Oh, wow, nearly pissed herself, you say?” Narcissa chided, while forcing herself to smile. “And Draco…my sweet little Draco; he’s been hitting up the bordello a lot, yeah?” 

“Oh, no,” Harry corrected her. “That was within the last year, way after I started doing that.” 

Narcissa began to feel ill. “And, you were only thirteen when you started doing _that._ ” 

Harry shrugged. “Yes, mistress, err…missus, I’ve been a courtesan since I was thirteen. And Tom’s catamite.” 

“Catamite? What the hell is a catamite?” she asked him, almost not wanting the answer. “Do I want to know?” 

“I was his kept boy, to use for his pleasure. I made him happy, which is what Lord Voldemort tasked me with when I was placed in servitude. Tom is somewhat unstable, impulsive, you see. He hurts people for fun, hurts and kills em without restriction. My job was to keep him relaxed and comfortable, so he didn’t get too psycho on everyone,” Harry explained. “That was my main job, being a courtesan for Mistress Bella was payment in exchange for her housing and taking care of me while he was away.” 

“Oh Merlin, okay, that’s enough for tonight.” Narcissa pushed the carafe away, having had enough wine and talk about what monsters the people her husband worked for were. Harry was crying, hiding it well, but she could see him sneak in great breaths in her peripheral vision whenever she looked away. She stood up and held out her hand. “Yes, well, bed now.” 

"Bed?" He took it and stood up, waiting on her to lead him off to bed. His large doe-eyes stayed on her, his lips parted in question. “You don’t mean…Dr-Draco said I didn’t have to do that anymore.” 

“Yes, Harry, you have to do that. How silly,” the woman said, imagining he was speaking about sleeping. 

“I told you before, missus, I don’t know about women…” Harry fretted as Narcissa drew him closer to the bed. 

“What does that matter? Women are not all that different than men. Besides, I thought you lived in a house full of them.” She turned down the covers with one hand, refusing to release Harry’s wrist caught in her other. "Should have picked something up during your stay."

It gave Harry a jolt. He reeled back as she pushed him onto the mattress. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this! I can’t sleep with you--I don’t know what I’m-” 

“Oh, no!” the woman replied, blushing. She could see the terse confusion further clouding the boy’s already-maddened way of thinking far more than he could tolerate. “No, no, no, Harry, that’s not what I meant.” 

He was taller than her, with an air of nobility shining from him that one could not acquire through training, but all the same he appeared so small to her, so naive in the ways of normal life. Perhaps losing ones parents at such a young age, growing up with relatives who did not love you, and then being forced to perform unspeakable acts on adults had some how stunted his mental ageing process. 

She refused to let him go despite how hard he tried to pull away. “You don’t have to do that any more. Don’t start crying again, don’t feel bad about that. You did not insult me,” she said, soothing his worry as she sat him down and tucked him in under the covers. "I just want you to go to sleep."

“I am so sorry, Mistress Bella…I mean Narcissa. Please don’t take it the wrong way, I’m just confused. He does things to my mind; muddles things up.” Harry buried himself under his duvet and rolled onto his side, away from her. “Good night.” 

“Yeah,” Narcissa said, thinking about allowing Draco to stay in the same room with Harry at night. Living with this new tenant was not going to be easy, that was for sure. “Sleep well.” 

* * *

 

 **December 1999**  

It probably took Narcissa a hundred times to curb her son’s new companion’s extrinsic behaviours before she was satisfied that Harry would not stroll past the sitting room half-naked while she was entertaining guests. Nor would he be asking her if he needed to service them anymore. Not that he had actually done either of these deeds, but she could not risk that happening, and she could not put it past him.

Since becoming a teen, Harry had been groomed for a specific kind of servitude; to be a nymph-like delicate flower so easily bruised or crushed, and use that talent to give pleasure to the patrons of the bordello, giving them all the sense of power their master wanted them to feel that they had. It seemed like she had been tasked to be guardian to a semi-feral child, if said child were raised by whores rather than by wolves.

She was not allowed to cut his hair or let him dress in anything less than aristocratic. He was to remain lithe, pretty and delicate, pampered like a child and kept innocent. Or as she called it; ignorant, with no further education past what he learnt during his second year at Hogwarts.

He was lavished with costly gifts, sent daily, and delivered to him by the Dark Lord’s personal House Elf. Most of them were from Tom. He also sent love letters, rooms full of flowers, and the most sinful of any decadent delicacies ever created, made by Voldemort’s personal chef. She threw most of it away as per her son’s request, whether Harry refused it or did not know it had been delivered. 

It wasn’t uncommon to catch the boy batting his lashes at her husband while the man spoke about his day during dinner. There was the way he sat at the table that really irked her; he always perched somewhat slant-ways on his chair so that he could gaze upon Lucius over his shoulder; just as he was doing at that very moment. 

“Ugh.” Narcissa tapped her pursed lips with a napkin before resting it on her plate and slapping down on the tabletop as hard as she could to catch Harry’s attention. Everyone jumped. Everyone always jumped. “Look at me, Harry. Turn to face me, sit straight and upright in your chair. Keep your eyes on your plate. Try keeping your gazing at people down to a few seconds at a time, with normal blinking.” 

“This is so hard,” Harry whispered into Draco’s ear as he shifted around to face the table, and picked up his fork. “Yes, Mrs Malfoy. I’m sorry I upset you.” 

Narcissa’s nostrils flared. “Stop apologising when I correct you.” 

“Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry…err, gods. I’m sorry for that.” 

Draco shrugged, biting down on his lip, trying his best to hide the fact that he found great levity in his mother’s and Harry’s interactions. Even his grumpy father could no longer hate on the poor sod. Now his attitude seemed more akin to aggrivation, if nothing else. 

After forcing her husband to complain to the Dark Lord about Tom Riddle’s mental torture through the mark on Harry’s forehead, Voldemort himself came by one day and strengthened the charm on the anklet he made Harry wear. Now, neither Tom nor Voldemort could mentally communicate with him, which took a lot of heavy burden off of the Malfoys, for obvious reasons. Being spied on by their master made them cool to the idea of letting their guard down, and always made them feel like they were being watched when Harry was in the room. And now Tom could no longer plague the poor boy with pain and endless questioning that kept waking him up screaming bloody murder night after night. 

Harry’s magic usage had been completely cut off, as it had been for all of the other slaves who served inside the bordello. The loss of the feeling of any sort of magic left Harry empty, but living with Draco; despite being badgered by Narcissa and growled at by Lucius every day; filled that hole right back up. It even overflowed with something much nicer: love. 

Lovity, lovedy, love. Harry Potter was so much in love with Draco Malfoy that it overtook any residual or current sadness about being held captive and forced to live a certain way. He put everything into pleasing him, and Draco he. They clearly adored the other in a way neither Malfoy parent could deny. Still, it was awkward. Both boys had been married to girls, girls who were slaves, living with their own masters. It felt like breeding dogs to Narcissa. This was not how she imagined life to be when Draco grew up. There would be no grandchildren to spoil. All of the children born for the army were being raised in an undisclosed location. Her husband had caused this, her son helped keep it going, and training the Potter boy kept her stressed. She couldn’t help but take out her frustrations on all three of them. 

“Harry.” 

“I’m sorry, I did it again.” 

“Harry.” 

“Oh, Merlin…You know, this is not easy, Narcissa. I’ve been groomed to serve my master in a way as to keep him happy.” Harry bared his teeth in frustration. “And he likes it when I’m sorry.” 

“I do understand. But you don’t serve him any more. You haven’t for months.” 

“Yes, I am aware of that, but thank you for reminding me…again.” 

Narcissa’s demeanour brightened up. “Well, you didn’t say you were sorry this time, that’s something.” She elbowed her husband. “See? He can learn.” 

Lucius rolled his eyes as he balled up the napkin resting on his lap. “Okay, I believe you.” The elder Death Eater glared down at the boys’ dinner plates. “Now make me just as happy as mummy is here and eat your dinner.” 

Harry’s mouth opened in worry, but he said nothing. He lowered his head to avoid their judging stares. 

“Can we leave the table?” Draco asked her, patting Harry’s hand under the table. He grew tired of needing to sit through another terrible meal with mummy and daddy. “He’s obviously upset.” 

Narcissa’s lips puckered in distaste. Her son was always interfering in her lessons with the former courtesan. “No. Harry hasn’t touched his plate.” 

Harry cringed, feeling his fever begin to return. His temperature had remained normal during his stay at Malfoy Manor. He had no need to take all the potions he was left to keep it at bay. But slowly, over the course of the last week or so it returned when Narcissa and Lucius got on his case too much. Something was coming, something bad. “I’m really not very hungry. I don’t feel well.” 

“Rules are rules.” Insulted, Narcissa felt her blood heat up. She sat forward in her seat. “You’re not a child any more. Eat your dinner.” 

Draco began to simmer. “He said he’s not hungry.” 

“Listen to your mother,” Lucius snapped. His narrowed eyes shifted over to the Half-Blood his son kept company with. “And you, pretty-boy…pick up your fork and eat something before I come over this table and feed it to you myself, you little brat.” 

Trembling, Harry grabbed his fork. “Fine.” 

Draco threw a hand up in front of him. “Don’t you dare eat it if you’re not hungry.” 

Sighing, Harry leaned in to whisper in his lover’s ear. “Draco, I don’t want another fight.” 

“Listen to your little tart, Draco,” Lucius warned his son. 

Draco, in return, stood up and threw a glass of wine at the wall. He scowled at his father. “Stop calling him that!” He grabbed Harry’s hand and yanked him up out of his chair. “We’re going upstairs, don’t disturb us.” 

“You get back here!” Narcissa shouted. 

“This is my house!” Lucius screamed. 

Draco stopped momentarily, pulling Harry into his embrace. He did not look back at his parents this time. “When I turned eighteen this house and land it sits on became mine. You know it, I know it, and the Dark Lord knows it. If you two wish to remain staying under this roof I suggest you rethink how you treat Harry and me. We are not children any more.” 

Watching his son drag his boyfriend away, Lucius dropped his utensils on his plate with a huff. He punched the table top and looked at his wife, ready to start complaining about what a massive mistake they had made agreeing to take this Half-Blood whore into their home. 

“Don’t you say one fucking word,” his wife warned him, scowling. She pushed away from the table and stood up. She had bottled this up for too long. “This is your fault - all of it.” She pointed an accusing finger in his face. “I know what you did with that diary. And I know that you paid to let Draco inside that whorehouse so he could sleep with Potter, against the poor child's will, mind you - more than once! You and my sister can go straight to hell for all I care.” 

Lucius’ mouth fell open as his beloved wife threw her own glass of wine at the wall. “Cissy?” 

“Not one word,” she reminded him, and left the formal dining room. 

* * *

After a long day of questioning a councilman before finally getting his hands on the paperwork he’d been sent to retrieve, Draco stumbled out of the Malfoy fireplace and dropped into an awaiting armchair with exhaustion. Life as a Death Eater was not all it was cracked up to be. If not for Harry he would have defected already. The work he performed for the Dark Lord was reckless, tedious, soul-draining work, but he did not have to kill anyone, not yet. As long as he kept up negotiations with their enemies Voldemort would keep him on as a diplomat. 

He was only nineteen years old and already a confidant to Lord Voldemort’s elite few. It kept Harry and he safe from Tom, if nothing else, but there was more, far more than he could have wished for. He reached into his robes and pulled out a heavy sack of gems he’d been given as salary for a job well done. 

“Dobby, come put this in the special vault.” 

He tossed it to the House Elf when he appeared, then shooed him away. He relaxed into the chair after a long day of being a horrible person, letting his eyelids drift closed. _Ah, peace and quiet._  

 _“Wake up.”_  

Draco’s eyes opened and centred on his mother, who was tapping a foot in the threshold of the parlour. “I’m just taking a breather for a moment; it’s been one helluva day. What’s your problem now?” 

Narcissa pointed to the ceiling. “Your little boyfriend is hiding again. And we’re expecting You-Know-Who for dinner tonight. Get him pretty and happy before he arrives. I can’t have him acting like a man, goddammit…he needs to look the part, like a…you know.” 

“A tart,” Draco finished for her. He stood up from the chair and nudged her out of the way so he could pass. 

“Yes, a bloody tart, Draco,” Narcissa said sharply as she followed him to the stairs. “Don’t blame this on me! I didn’t put him in that whore house, and you know damned well I can’t let the Dark Lord see him waltzing around wearing flannel and looking unkempt. He expects to see what we agreed on, and this won’t go well if he doesn’t see…something.” 

Draco could not bite his tongue any longer. “Oh, goody. Is he bringing the new wife, too? I dearly hope so. I’ll bet the two of you have loads of things to catch up on; like how well you’ve both been caring for your master’s little hostage, making him act like some sort of character that does not fucking exist in real life!” He stopped to glare at her for a moment, furious. “No one is supposed to live like an ageless harem boy, mum! No one.” 

“I am not my sister. Stop blaming me for what she did to him!” she shouted back. “And, as I recall, you had no problem with my sister when you decided to start sleeping with whores, child.” 

“I was a kid, mummy. _And, as I recall,_ I was raised by two people who didn’t seem to have a problem with their son visiting whorehouses.” Draco ascended the staircase. He paused mid-step, scoffing. “Why not just lock him up like you did when the Crabbe family came for dinner? You didn’t have a problem doing that, either.” 

“I had no choice about that! How was I supposed to know Mr Crabbe was sleeping with him?!” Narcissa grabbed her son’s arm to turn him around and face her, but Draco pulled it away. “Anyway, I've had enough of Harry-Hunting for the week. You-Know-Who specifically asked that Harry must attend this dinner. He’d better look the part—find him, make him happy.” 

“Harry, honey, come out,” Draco called, ignoring his mother. “I’m home now. It’s okay.” He knew it was hard to deal with his mother while he was at work, that Harry found solace in hiding from her rather than endure her questioning and etiquette teachings. He stopped in his tracks and turned on his mother. “Even your sister gave him a day off every now and then, you know. Why don’t you go away and go get ready for the guests.” 

“Just so you know, he’s bringing Tom with him tonight, too,” Narcissa said as she threw her hands up and made her way back to the staircase. 

Draco gave off a low growl. _That fucking prick Tom Riddle_ _._ No wonder Harry was hiding. 

* * *

After checking all the usual spots, Draco pulled his robes off before crawling through a half-door that led to the ladder that gave access to the attic. 

“Hey,” he said, spotting his lover sitting in an old rocking chair by the stained glass attic window. 

Harry looked back at him for a moment. “Hey.” 

Draco wove through the storage. He helped Harry stand before pulling him into his embrace as he dropped down into the rocker himself. “C’mere, you. Why are you hiding up here?” 

Harry immediately curled up to him to rest his head on his shoulder. “Guess who’s coming to dinner.” 

“Not Sidney Pointer, that’s for damned sure,” Draco replied, having learnt the reference after Harry talked him into getting a television and the both of them spending their nights together watching old movies in between sessions of making love. He wished to hell their impending guest was Sidney Pointer…anyone other than Tom. 

Harry had been an occupant of Malfoy Manor over the last five months. He struggled to adapt to living somewhat more freely, but without any true freedom. Narcissa was constantly on his arse, making House Elves bathe him, always checking his fingernails for dirt. She restocked his wardrobe with silky and lacy garments every time Draco would fill it up with more comfortable things for him to wear. She kept a unicorn on the grounds as a pet, too. It drove Harry mad. Unicorns represented life and love and hope; they were wild creatures, they were supposed to be free. 

“What if Tom’s talked him into taking me away?” 

“That ain’t gonna happen,” Draco assured him. 

Harry hugged him tighter around the neck, as if clutching onto him for dear life. “But how do you know?” 

 _Because I have something on him. Something big._ “I’m in close to the Dark Lord now. I’ve worked my way up the ladder in one tenth of the time it took Avery.” 

Harry sat up and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “I thought you were making that up. Are you really close to him?” 

“Well, I’m no Severus Snape,” Draco admitted, then added, “At least not yet. Trust me, he won't risk giving you back to Tom." _Not with what I got on him._

There was a secret that no one, outside of the Dark Lord and one other, knew to be reality: Sirius Black never was and never would be a true Death Eater. 

Draco hadn’t meant to find the documented agreement between the accused betrayer and Voldemort, it was just there whilst he filed away the documents he had obtained that afternoon. He had bottled that memory and had Dobby store it in a vault he obtained in Switzerland, in a bank that even Lord Voldemort could not penetrate. That was stored along with valuables and every other memory he had that he could use as leverage to keep Harry in his manor, and away from Tom. He’d been a good little soldier, but not for nothing, and he did not trust his commander as far as he could throw him. 

“I hope you stay yourself,” Harry commented through a shudder. “The only good thing about Severus Snape is that he hates Sirius Black more than I do." He let his guard down and began kissing the exposed skin of Draco’s long neck. “He’s an arse, but he didn’t betray my parents and get them killed.” 

“That old tale might not be all it’s cracked up to be. Don’t put too much energy into your hate for him,” Draco replied through a moan. He shivered from the close contact, and found himself running his hands up under Harry’s dressing gown. “Besides, doesn’t seem like Snape hates Black as much as you think he does. They’re quite close, actually.” 

Harry straightened up. “No, that’s not true. Hermione told me that Snape loathes him, that he and my father picked on him relentlessly while they went to school.” 

“Who knows,” Draco mumbled. “Maybe they made up.” 

“I guess it’s possible.” 

Draco kissed Harry full on the lips. He had no idea why Snape and Black had gotten so cosy, nor did he care. What he did know was the true reason why Harry Potter had not been executed once the Dark Lord had been resurrected, which had everything to do with Black.

“Lemme take you to my room,” he whispered against Harry’s plush lips. He nuzzled a knee between his thighs while his fingers worked their way down the length of his spine. “Let me make you feel good, love. Let me spoil you, make you forget about tonight.” 

Harry’s head tipped back as Draco assaulted his throat. He clenched his teeth through the tickle of lips nursing his pulse point. His dressing gown slipped off of his shoulders, his hair cascaded behind him in glossy blacks locks. “Yes, take me to bed,” he whispered back, and gasped as Draco grabbed him up in his arms and stood from the rocker. It thrilled him when Draco got really Herculean on him; it was sexy, raunchy, a massive turn-on. He curled into his embrace, letting him carry him off again, as he always did when Harry needed him most.

* * *

Every time the Dark Lord visited Malfoy Manor it was…damned awkward. His appearance alone could trigger ones fight or flight reflex if caught off-guard. He was hideously deformed, a true nose-less villain, accessorized perfectly with forked tongue and sickle-shaped red eyes. He was once a great beauty, evidenced by the living memory of his younger self, but opted to forgo that privilege in his yearning to discover eternal life. 

"Ah, yes...Malfoy Manor. Such a fine home you have."

He stood outside of the parlour fireplace, with his taloned hands clasped with his new wife’s and Tom’s. 

Harry was certain it was to keep the latter from pulling his wand out and striking him down on the spot. He backed up into Draco, fearing he would not be able to stand on his own shaky legs for much longer. Tom was smirking at him, his eyes had yet to centre on anyone else standing there to greet them. 

“How are you, Harry darling?” he spoke, breaking the thick tension inside the room. “I’ve missed you so much.” 

Narcissa nudged her husband, who stepped forward to welcome their guests inside.

Lucius bowed in front of Voldemort and Bellatrix before gesturing them over to the furniture. “My Lord and Lady, we are honoured to welcome you into our home. Please, come have a seat.” 

Harry curled into Draco’s form as Tom approached. His mouth opened and closed but no sound could be made. 

“I see the Malfoys haven’t taught you a thing,” Tom quipped. He flicked a lock of shiny black hair out of Harry’s eyes as he bent down a smidgen to meet them. “May I remind you, catamite, that it’s polite to answer someone the first time they’ve asked you a question.” 

Harry scowled. “You go fuck yoursel-” he tried to shout, but Draco clapped a hand over his mouth. 

“He’s good, Tom. And how the hell are you?” Draco said in place of his lover. He stood up straight and tall, matching Riddle’s grand height. 

Tom’s dark eyes moved to Draco, but he responded to Harry. “I have been fucking myself. It’s not nearly as fun as it sounds. I much prefer that thing you and me had going.” 

Draco held Harry firmly in place, with his hand still cupped over his mouth. “Sounds to me like you need to find yourself a date.” 

“I have a date already, he just doesn’t live with me any more,” Tom replied, “Isn’t that right, Ganymede?” He gave off a morbid effluvia as he stood there staring Harry down, it’s ominous scent chilling the boy’s bones.

Harry baulked, but Draco held him with an arm wrapped around his middle. 

“Let him go. Let him speak for himself. I’m just dying to hear what he has to say,” Tom argued, snickering. He was as childish as he ever had been, with an ego that bruised easier than an overripe peach. He prided himself on being special, being unique, but seeing his catamite in the ministrations of someone else made him feel common. He leaned in closer to Draco, inhaling his heady musk. “For one who complains so much about Harry’s lack of freedom - you seem to have a hand in it, too. Pun intended.” 

“Yeah, well I’m controlling this situation as to keep his arse from getting killed,” Draco replied, flicking his eyes at Voldemort for a second before centring back on Tom. “You and me have very different reasons for controlling what goes on around us, don’t we?” 

Everyone was wearing their Sunday best: Voldemort was adorned in his deep green ceremonial robes, Bellatrix was clad in a fish-tail gown, Tom had on leathers with a lacy tunic, the Malfoys sported spider silk, and Draco and Harry were dressed similarly in tailored sport coats with matching trousers. 

This had not escaped Tom’s notice. He took in his catamite’s graceful form, feeling his mouth begin to water. “This is different. I don’t think I’ve seen you wearing something on your legs since that day I bested you in the Chamber of Secrets,” he murmured, as he leaned in to whisper it in Harry’s ear. “Not saying I don’t like it, but I think I prefer it when you dress like the pretty painted-up tart, to be honest. The way you looked when you submitted for me.” 

“Would you like to come see my room, Tom?” Draco asked aloud. His lips pursed in anger, while his eyes drifted over to the split staircase that led up to the higher floors. “I’d love to show it to you, let you try out this intimidation tactic up there on someone your size, someone who can fight back.” 

“Boys, that’s enough,” the Dark Lord said, looking up in their direction. His distaste was evident as his eyes roamed over the three young men. He shifted a bit in his chair, snapped his fingers and then pointed to a spot on the floor by his feet. “Harry, come here.” 

Without hesitation, Harry pulled away from Draco and sauntered up next to Voldemort. He dropped down on his knees to prostrate himself for him. He bent down and kissed the Dark Lord’s bare feet, one and then the other, before hunching down on the floor as if praying to him. Voldemort’s hand drifted off of the arm of his chair to tangle it in his long shiny hair. 

Narcissa and Bellatrix blushed and looked away.

Lucius sat there as if this was something he encountered often.

Tom rolled his eyes. He reached up and flicked Draco’s ear when their master’s bloody eyes lowered down upon Harry. 

The Dark Lord simpered while he petted his trophy’s head like a pet. “Sit up now, my beloved, and behave for me while I visit.” 

“Yes, my Lord,” Harry replied, and sat up on his knees. He folded his hands together in his lap and remained emotionless at the man’s feet while Voldemort, his wife and the Malfoys commenced with their mingling. 

"As I was saying, my first choice was relocating the headquarters here, in your manor. But, ultimately, I decided on Hogwarts. I am quite fond of the place. So many happy memories there..."

“C’mon, prick,” Draco whispered into Tom’s ear. He grabbed him by the lapels and yanked him in closer to finish his statement so that only he could hear him. “Let me show you my room, where I sleep…where I fuck your catamite whenever I want to. Best part about that, Tom; he wants it too. Novel idea, yeah? I let him decide whether or not he wants me to fuck him. So far it's working out great - I haven't had to beat him once.” 

Tom’s nostrils flared. He removed Draco’s hands and straightened his shirt, smirking. “I’d love to.” He gave the other young man a healthy shove before tipping his head to the Malfoys. “Lead on, dead man.” 

Harry fought to turn his head, to watch the two men walk away. He gritted his teeth as sweat began to bead on his forehead. Movement was near impossible when the Dark Lord had control of him. So he sat there like a puppet while The Malfoys offered their master tiny cakes and refilled his glass of wine. And Voldemort wrapped an arm around his neck to pat his cheek whenever he felt like adding that little extra _oomph_ of humiation whenever it serves him best. 

* * *

Tom shoved Draco against the chamber door the moment they entered Draco’s personal wing. He held him against it while he seethed, smelling his precious catamite’s scent wafting off of Draco like flowery perfume. His eyes drifted closed while he inhaled the fragrance, an aroma so lovely, drawing his sorrow forth. “He was mine first. I won him fair and square. Why?” he compelled Draco, letting his hatred and frustration fall back behind his covetous envy for a moment to lament. “Of all the people in the entire world, why did you take mine?”

Draco shoved him off and ran him back up against the wall behind him. He shoved his wand in his neck. “Two reasons,” he replied. “I love him, and, let’s be honest - you’re a monster.” He pressed the wand up harder. “Why can’t you just leave him alone?! He didn’t do anything to you! He was a child when you stole him from me!” 

“Ooh!” Tom quipped. His dark features brightened with a mischievous grin. “I stole him from you, did I?" He went rigid with envy. "And then you stole him back from me.” Again, he inhaled his lover’s calming pheromones lingering off of his prey. His hands came up to plant themselves on Draco’s shoulders. “Maybe I made a mistake. Maybe I took him for granted, I can admit that.” 

“What are you on about?” Draco asked him. He took a step back, with his wand up and at the ready, just in case Tom tried anything funny. 

Tom tipped his head, looking a bit less wicked, and a bit more vulnerable. “After resurrecting my older self I became a separate entity. I will never be Lord Voldemort now. I will always be ‘his younger self’, you see." He stepped away from the wall, entranced with the hints of Harry's essence drawing him to Draco as if Amortentia was moving his actions. "For this reason I’ve been trying to become something else, better than him, stronger, more frightening…I wanted _him_ to be less than me, even though, technically, he is me." He moved closer to Draco as Draco backed away. "I never had a mummy or daddy to raise me. I don’t have any sort of discipline, he lets me do whatever I want - everything except killing Death Eaters or Harry.” He took a step forward, unconsciously backing Draco up against the door again. “Who the hell is he to tell me who I can or can not kill, hmm?” 

"Right, well..." Draco felt his back hit the door. “Count yourself fortunate I’m not allowed to kill you.” 

"I'd love to see you do that." Tom pressed himself up against the other young man. "Gods, you're pretty. Real pretty."

Draco could feel Tom’s excitement jutting against his pelvis. It was then when he understood what Harry must have felt when Tom visited him inside the bordello. Being alone with him, even inside his own bedroom wing, was frightening. He watched the flecks in the man’s dark eyes come to life, pulsating with flowing blood as he narrowed them on him. He felt Tom’s long fingers circle around his wrists and clamp down. “Get your hands off of me,” he whispered, losing his voice in the moment. Tom was glowing white-hot with hatred, something Draco had never wallowed through before from any other witch or wizard. Regardless of how intimidated he felt at that very moment, a Malfoy could never be bested by an interloper inside Malfoy Manor. “Back off now, before I have your head.” 

Tom snickered as he released the Death Eater, this master’s new favourite. He backed up a step and clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m just dying to see where you sully my catamite. You do know I’m going to get him back, don’t you?” 

Draco opened the door leading into his chambers. He looked back over his shoulder as he entered the room. “You can try.” 

Tom followed him inside, his smirk vanishing the moment Draco turned back around. “Oh, yes, I will try,” he whispered to himself. He reached inside his pocket and dropped something small and shiny on the floor. He kicked it under the chaise lounge sitting against the wall to his left, and smiled at Draco again when the man turned back around to gloat. He threw his hands up, impressed. “So this is it; where the magic happens. Must be nice to have been born to people with bucket-loads of money to throw at you.” 

“It’s very nice, actually,” Draco replied, giving off a superior wicked smirk. "Let's get something straight: Harry is a human being. He is not your play-thing any more. He's happy now, and I'm going to do everything I can to keep him that way, even if it involves killing you."

"Oh, but we both know what a gigantic coward you are," Tom quipped, glancing around the room. "I fear your poor taste in colour schemes more than I do you."

"I've warned you," Draco piped in, completing this chit chat. “Now get the fuck out of here before I take you down right now.” 

Tom held his hands up as he backed out of the room. “Fine, fine. You win, Malfoy. Congratulations.” 

The excitement of confronting Tom began to fade. Draco’s smirk wore off. He was certain they would fight, but Tom gave in so easily. He shrugged and left the room, locking the door to head back down to ask the Dark Lord to allow Harry to sit with them during dinner at the table, rather than at his feet again.

* * *

As Draco reached the dining room, he saw Harry sitting between the Dark Lord and Tom at the long rectangular table, seated across from his parents. Bellatrix was at her husband’s side. Harry looked more calm to him, giving him a small smile as he sipped a glass of red wine. Voldemort kept patting his shoulder while Tom conversed with Lucius as if they were buddies, but Draco knew better. He took his seat beside his mother, across from Tom. “All right, Harry?”

“I’m good,” he replied, glancing briefly up at his lover. That lovely grin curled back up on his lips as he held up his wineglass. "Everything is going well.”

Draco felt himself loosen up. “Good.”

Tom also began patting Harry’s person as he lightened up the room with an uncharacteristic jovial attitude. “I was just telling you father about that office building we raided last week, Draco,” he said, wagging his eyebrows at his partner. “Such a thug you’ve become, hanging that banker upside down to shake all of his secrets out of him.” He laughed as he sat back in his seat. His hand dropped down on Harry’s shoulder again.

Draco glanced at Harry before shrugging. “We’re all quite used to how easily you lie when you try to make others look bad. I’m not even going to dignify your boasting with a denial.”

“Whatever.” Tom nuzzled up against Harry and whispered something in his ear.

Draco saw his lover’s cheeks grow flush, his eyes close as he tensed up, and his head sway as he politely turned him down to whatever he had asked him.

The rest of the meal was uneventful. They all got through it without upsetting Lord Voldemort and gathered around the fireplace to say their good-byes. Draco excused Harry and himself, taking him by the hand to lead him back to his chambers, intent on shagging the smile back into him no matter how long it took.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it and want more, give me kudos, please!


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